So, what happens to old memories; the ones you don't have storage room for anymore?  When we say, "I'll never forget _______: -this moment; this feeling; you…we mean it, obviously.  But then, sometimes we do forget.  Why?  I notice that the older I get, the harder time I have remembering things.  Maybe I'm following in mama's footsteps; she's been telling everyone for years (really, it's been decades!) that she's "losing her mind".  Her mother had alzheimer's disease, and I know the prospect of that scares mama, but I don't think that's her problem.

I love to scrapbook, I have many different little toys and tools that allow me to be creative and have lots of fun.  But here's something odd:  The other day, I was perusing the first book I did a few years ago.  I really enjoyed all the memories that it brought back, things that I had forgotten; some of them that at the time I thought would be forever engraved in my mind.  Instead, those particular memories lay encased in a plastic page protector, pressed between the pages of an album that lives on a shelf in the office.  What if, God forbid, something happened to my albums?  Would those memories be gone forever?  Would they someday return home like the prodigal son?

And what about the things you can't recall, no matter how much someone tells you about them?  The other day mama asked me how old I was the year someone stole our Christmas tree?  WHAT?  Hello, when did that happen?  "That's what I'm asking you!" answered mama.  It looks to me like that would be a difficult thing to forget, so why do I not remember it at all?  Even with the most minute details provided by mama (the one who's losing her mind, remember?), I cannot recall this tragedy.   What's up with that?

And how come I can remember a high school friend's phone number that I haven't dialed in over 20 years, but I can't remember parts of a conversation that I had just 2 days ago?

Am I, too, losing my mind?  Maybe someday mama and I will end up in the same nursing home, neither knowing who the other is.  When I'm feeling snarky, I like to remind her that I have her power of attorney, so she better behave or she might wake up in a room with Henrietta the bedwetter.  And, since by now everyone knows she's losing her mind, who would believe her when she tells them she doesn't belong there?  That usually straightens her up for a little bit.

Anyway, I just hate the thought of forgetting things I want to remember.  This afternoon was baccalaureate.  My beautiful baby girl stood there so gorgeous in her cap and gown; daddy and I were so proud.  The love just spilled out of my heart and eyes.  I don't want to forget that.  Ever.

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