The memory is a strange thing. It does play tricks. We can
have three different people in the same place and each of them remembers the
situation very differently in two years time. I suppose a memory is not an
accurate guide of reality. Rose tints fall upon them and can alter how we think
we experienced an activity or situation. Or memory can let us down.
In the weeks after my dad died I would wake in the night,
terrified I would forget about him. I couldn’t remember his face and it threw
me into a panic. I scrabbled round for the only recent picture of him and
reprinted it for every relative I could. Of course I can remember what he
looked like now, and experiences of him but at that time my memory faded to
black. I tried to remember his voice but it wasn’t there. Perhaps this is a normal part of the grieving
process but it was nightmarish. My memory was playing tricks on me temporarily.
The memory is selective too. I’ve plenty of things that I
have been glad to forget, only to resurface when I am more able to deal with
them. This is a surreal experience, like a part of my personality comes back to
me after a long time missing. That’s probably just me though.
As I get older my memory is getting worse and worse. I used
to be quite good at remembering things, so this means I miss lots of
appointments as I have never kept a diary.
It’s been worse in the past few years since I began studying again as a
mature student. Perhaps I’m like Homer Simpson, as a new piece of information
enters the brain it shoves out an old piece. I am hoping this is temporary,
after all sometimes if I’m not concentrating I can answer a question without
thinking or choose the perfect word for something. It just pops out from some
unknown region of my brain matter. Whatever the case, memory is a tricksy
little creature.