A day to remember
Nothing like a dementia diagnosis to inject a healthy dose of reality into the idea of memories.
A day to remember. Nothing like a dementia diagnosis to inject a healthy dose of reality into the idea of memories.
We have good days, we have bad days. We have days to remember. So we say. But do we really? Really? Is the entire day good, bad, or memorable? The entire day? The entire twenty-four hours? No chance. Clearly. And, frankly, good thing. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Imagine if you could remember a full day; every second of the 86,400 seconds in those 24 hours. Setting aside the impracticality of that. To fully remember, you’d need context. Context such as what were the conditions around me – was I hot? Hungry? Tired? Grumpy? And drilling down one further layer, what was happening in my gut biome? Those little bacteria in there apparently have a lot to do with how we experience the world. We are not nearly as autonomous as we think.
Still not convinced? If we were able to remember in full resolution, then would it not take the full 86,400 seconds to relive the day? And then how would we remember those 86,400 seconds? No, a day to remember seems impossible. Then there is the matter that the further removed we are from the day, the more likely our memories are inaccurate. Childhood memories? Forget about it. Ten years ago? Highly unlikely.
Having hopefully established the impossibility of remembering a full day, and also established that any memory is inherently an approximation (given our lack of ability to step into the same proverbial river twice), let us turn our attention to the desirability of remembering, even imperfectly.
Having set aside feasibility, what is the utility and desirability of remembering? First, clearly, progress hinges on memory. Avoiding mistakes, skill mastery; it all requires memory. Further, memories can be good for judgement (“that’s nothing compared to last time”), perspective (“things come and go”), and encouragement (“things will get better again”).
Dementia provides an interesting window into what happens when memory fails. The disorientation of waking up in what feels like a new place. The anguish of how you’ll eat in the dining room with no cash or identification. That disputed memory of how your cat came to live with you. Where are my parents, which Saskia are you, when will I see you – the list of memory gaps is long. And the gaps are debilitating.
My own memory tends to be ‘impressionistic’; I’m not one of those who claims to remember in any vivid detail (real or imagined).
My personal inventory of ‘days to remember’ would include, in no particular order: sitting beside the Coquihalla with our bicycles on the way to Calgary, birth of my daughter, moving to Canada, master’s defence, trip to Iceland, and my mother’s dementia diagnosis. What these have in common is intensity of emotion. Memories can be jogged by journals, photographs, smells, or songs. Probably the best memories are stored in our collective conscience. Is there anything better than reminiscing (and embellishing) with old friends, colleagues, family about that “day to remember”?