I had brain surgery in this apartment. I lost something in this apartment, a part of my memory. I usually get around this, and it has gotten me out of many awkward conversations that begin "do you remember me..." It is a convenient excuse at times, and royal pain-in-the-ass many other times.
Last night I was going through some blankets and came across a children's blanket that was my son's at one time. It looked like one of the many pieces my mother could have made him and I asked my wife if it was indeed one of those items. It was not. The visible "what the hell" look on her face instantly led me to realize that this was one of those moments where my memory failed me miserably. Apparently I bought the blanket, and had it customized just for Jacob while in India in 2005. As hard as I have tried, I remember nothing about it.
Something that I have learned over the years, all-be-it painfully, is to admit that I am not O.K. all the time. I want to say I am O.K, I want to give you a trite platitude about "God knows" when I come across one of those moments where I loose track of my memory, but I will not. Life is to short for platitudes. I am hurting today. I mourn the loss of memory, I mourn the loss of some of my best times of life. I treasure what I have all the more, but I mourn none the less.
I have friends who would love to loose memories of certain pains in their life. Past decisions with present consequences, future plans sabotaged by the way they think today...the list is endless. Memory is a wonderful, yet vicious bitch. If this is a gift God, give me more, or less, depending on the day I suppose.
Moving to a space to call our own has been a wonderful experience. I had fun this last weekend showing it off to some good friends down from Denver. I even have enjoyed doing the little fix up things and learning from another friend how to do things around the house. But this part stinks, the part where every last thing I own has a memory ensconced within it. I may have bought it at a flea market on a sunny day, or gone across the world and brought it home...but it is memory; my memory.
I have been learning to spiritually try and live in the moment. This present moment, unencumbered by thoughts of the past, unencumbered by anxiety and fear of tomorrow. All I have is this moment, and it is a beautiful and holy moment. I guess lacking some of my memories is a good thing, but I do not think of it as such. I have to rest and realize that I am a child of a God who gives all good things, who works continually for the good of His creation and as a part of His creation it means He is crazy in love with me.
~Solo Deo Gloria
