I have a terrible memory.
I am constantly forgetting why I walked into a room.
I couldn't tell you what I had for breakfast yesterday.
I never remember movie endings.
To make matters worse, coupled with my poor memory is a poor accounting of time. Did something happen last month? Last year? Last decade? I just couldn't say.
It's a hard thing to accept about myself, particularly as someone who places a high value on memories and the past. I want to remember all the little things, but the forces of nature had other plans. No matter how much I might want to, I’m not naturally inclined to remember all my moments.
Sometimes I will have moments with my son where I just look into his face and will myself to remember. "Let this be something you will remember forever," I tell myself. "Don't ever forget this." I know that sometimes it works, but I’m sure there are moments I’ll never get back again. It’s not until I look back on our family albums that the memories come flooding back. What it was like when he was so little. How hot it was that day. How nervous I was. And every moment comes back to life like it was always there.
And I am so very grateful for it. For the silly moments that I couldn’t remember on my own. To remember his little face, how much younger his dad and I looked not all that long ago. How much we’ve all changed since then.