Stuff vs. Memories

NPR is always sending me messages from the Universe.

Yesterday I heard a story about short and long term memory loss.  The reporter posed the question "What would life be like without memory?"  

Cut to a man with brain trauma.  The reporter asks "What did you do this morning?"

Pause. "I honestly don't remember."

The reporter asks: "What did you do yesterday?"

Pause.  "I really, truly don't remember.  I wish I could tell you."

A doctor chimes in and talks about a past patient who suffered from short and long term memory loss. Despite her affliction, she could still play the viola and read sheet music. Put a piece of sheet music in front of her, and she could play it.  Give her the same sheet music 10 minutes later, and she would swear she's never seen it before, but she would, again, play it.  The doctor was testing muscle memory, looking to see if, despite not remembering the piece, she played it better over time.  She did.

"What would life be like without memory?"

As I clean out my house and sell nearly everything I own in preparation for the emigration, I realize that I am trading my stuff for memories, my tangible possessions for intangible experiences.  Most of the stuff is easy to give up: my Pier 1 artwork, my X-Files comic collection, pots and pans.

But by giving up some things, I am willfully surrendering the creation of future memories. Will I regret not feeling the warmth of my cat Amber next to me as I sleep?  Will I yearn for my own mattress as I sleep in the back of a station wagon on a camping trip?  Will I regret trading an egg per month for freedom in the short term, only to have time and age hijack my body and future happy memories in the long term?

"What will survive of me? A cardboard box with thoughts inside?" - Lunatic Soul

The physical act of cleaning out my house has made my brain go into defrag mode, making me process all of my memories, short and long term, all of the joy, the pain, the sorrow, the euphoria, the ugliness, the beauty, my own flaws.  And then there is that constant, nagging voice, always asking "Are you sure you're doing the right thing?"

"What would life be like without memory?" The question makes me wonder: "What if I couldn't think of my past?"  The very notion jolted me into appreciation tinged with guilt, because I realized just how much I have taken the gift of memory for granted.  Most of us do.  But for those souls who must endure short and long term memory loss, Alzheimer's, dementia and other illnesses that attack memory, it is a very hard reality for them and for their families.  It's a reality that did, and does, affect my family.

Tonight I sold my beautiful dining room set to a friend.  I traded it for a memory not yet made.  When that memory does finally come to greet me, I will close my eyes and savor it, just as I have savored every meal with Matt at my dining table.