On forgetting...

I am on the verge of tears most of the time now. I was unprepared for the surge of emotions that would accompany a lifetime of photographs and even less prepared for the regret I would feel for not having known my ancestors or their stories. I am ashamed that these people who lived long, full lives are now amongst the ranks of the forgotten. And what about my extended family who are still living? Why am I not closer to them? With today's telecommunication systems there is no excuse for being out of touch. I have the urge to reach out to them all and have huge family meals together where we exchange photos and tell stories about the old folks as well as our own children. I am also afraid of being forgotten. Is it because my ego demands the attention or is it that I don't feel like I have done anything memorable? My life has not been extraordinary, but surely my children will have Grandma Holle tales for the little ones. But even stronger than my fear of being forgotten is that of forgetting. Reliving my earliest years in the old photographs, I am pleasantly surprised at the quality of my memories. There are so many rich details to authenticate them. I can still hear the clank of wood and metal as Pat and I would try to get water from the old pump at Smith Creek. I can smell the rusty water that came up first and taste the cold minerals. The aroma of long-leaf pine was almost overwhelming. I hear the seagulls swarming as my father caught a small shark off the eastern tip of St. George Island and smell the propane in the little grill outside our tent. I hear the endless barking of neighborhood dogs and smell the dense mulch of the creek banks deep inside Circle Drive. I smell my grandpa's cologne as it tries to cover his old man scent. It feels like I can remember everything if I try. Why do I remember so much of those earliest years, but I cannot remember my grocery list? With Alzheimer's looming large in my future I am in panic mode. I don't want to forget it all. I don't want to forget my past and then my present and then my own children. This idea scares me to death. I have watched both of my grandmothers die with Alzheimer's and my father is in the latter stages of it. It is very real to me and I feel powerless over it. I am almost overcome with the urge to plan ahead for it. I'll make name tags and photo-albums so that I can at least pretend to remember people. Being forgotten hurts. I don't want to hurt anyone.