Forgetting to remember

As a person who is a few years north of 50, I’ve come to realize my memory leaves much to be desired.

Like everyone, there are times when I forget why I walk into a room and sometimes struggle to find the right word.

I’ve never been one to remember every person who I ever met — much less their names — or certain experiences when I was young. My husband, Matthew, on the other hand, remembers everything — from what his grandma served him for lunch when he was 5 years old to how many treats our dogs ate two Saturdays ago.

It’s a curse — both remembering that much and forgetting things that I should be able recall.

Last week, I showed up at a veterinarian appointment on the wrong day. I don’t think that was necessarily a memory issue, but rather an issue of me writing down the appointment on the wrong day. Nonetheless, it was pretty embarrassing.

Even though I’m getting older, I don’t think my memory loss is too much to worry about. Heck, I have a lot on my plate and, sometimes, I think I just have too much on my mind to be able to remember everything and everyone.

I also think my memory issues has to do with the sometimes lack of sleep in my life. Imagine getting only two to three hours of sleep at night a few times every week. You’d forget a lot of things, too. For the most part, I’ve been able to manage my sleep problems lately, so I don’t think its affected my ongoing memory conundrum.

My memory loss can be embarrassing at times, though. Recently, I was at a community event with my sister, and I saw someone who I see only about once or twice a year. I walked up to her and gave her a big hug. As I was introducing her to my sister, I started to panic, realizing I had forgotten her name. Thankfully, the music was pretty loud and there were a lot of people so, hopefully, she didn’t perceive my faux pas.

I’m not the only one in my family who had memory issues. For as long as I can recall, my dad couldn’t remember a lot of events from his early life. I enjoy learning about history, and I wanted to know all I could about my own family’s story but my dad wasn’t the one to ask. He remembered some but not a lot.

My mom, on the other hand, remembered everything, just like my husband. We would talk for hours about her childhood, about her experiences and friends in high school, and her life in California before she met my dad.

She would tell me stories about moving back to Belen, raising our family, people and events in the community and what she thought about life in the “good ol’ days.”

Sometimes I wish I had a memory like my mom and Matthew; being able to remember what I felt during any given moment in my life, the name of every single person I ever met or even every single teacher or professor I had from kindergarten though college.

Don’t get me wrong. I do remember — I remember a lot — but sometimes I think not being able to remember everything is a blessing. I don’t care what I ate for dinner a week or a month ago. I guess I didn’t care too much about the commencement speech at my college graduation because I don’t remember who gave it or even what they said.

Sometimes, certain memories will fade on their own, but others might stick around or pop up unexpectedly, which can be a delightful surprise most of the time.

In the last few years, I’ve caught myself hoarding memories when my dad, my mom and my brother died. I’ve been clinging to certain childhood memories because I don’t want to forget important details of my life.

I get it. Most of us remember the experiences and the people who are most important to us. Those are the memories I don’t want to forget, that I can’t forget.

By the way, I remembered the name of my friend, Linda, several minutes later, but it was too late and too embarrassing to go back and reintroduce her. If she’s reading this, I’m sorry, and it’s always a pleasure to see you.