The Irony of Memory

Today I am grateful for a slower-paced perspective on my day and a wrestling tournament yesterday. It allowed me to better experience the minutes and hours, and to be kinder and gentler to myself and those around me. Thank you Darcy for doing the driving too.

I am also grateful for each conversation I have with my mom. I had a phone conversation with her Friday afternoon that was longer than our conversations typically are. I appreciated that. There is heightened awareness for me that each conversation could be our last one.

This is truly the case with any conversation with anyone, but more in the forefront with Mom. She is nearly 87 and her health, hearing, and memory are declining. As sometimes happens, she couldn’t remember what she had said minutes earlier, but with clarity that could be trusted, she told of her high school days.

She had seen the obituary of a classmate. The second one who had died recently. She went on to talk about her own pride in having gone to and completed high school. She had to get up and do chores before going to school, and has always been an early riser. Several of my siblings and I are similar.

In order to get a ride into town for school, she had to go when her dad took her younger siblings to their school. She would then often go to mass at church next door, then walk up to high school from there. It was a short walk, but her and her recently deceased classmate would often walk together. This classmate was one of the daughters of the local doctor who was also Mom's family doctor.

I had heard some parts of this story before, but some parts were new. I wrote them down in a little more detail so I wouldn't forget them. I pondered what it must be like for Mom, with some regularity, to hear of the deaths of classmates and others she grew up with.

Memories can be gifts and they can be burdens. We may forget things we wish we could remember, and never forget things we wish we could. That's the irony of memory. This recent conversation with my mom was a gift.

Here is a picture of that high school diploma she is so proud of:


The memories of her high school days and achieving this diploma are gifts for Mom too. Way to go
Class of 1949!

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