The Burden of Memory
Recent events in my life have changed me in ways I didn’t see coming, particularly in regard to my thoughts about time. I’m not talking about the current COVID-19 pandemic, but rather the events of this past December. As 2019 wound down and the new year began, in the span of four weeks, my sister Judy died from cancer, I retired from both of my part-time positions, becoming fully retired for the first time in my adult life, and my siblings and I admitted my mother to a nursing home here in Hattiesburg. Before you assume that I’m drowning in thoughts of my own mortality, let me say that I’m not. While that’s definitely there in the background, my thoughts are more and more being colored by a new relationship with time, the present and the past, and the way these recent events have impacted the obligations I feel and the closeness I covet towards my family and friends.
All of this was crystallized for me a few days ago while I was out for a walk through the quiet streets of my neighborhood. I was particularly enjoying the warm weather and the signs of spring as one of my favorite podcasts played through my earbuds. I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, but just as a young father and his daughter rode past on their bicycles, a poignant piece playing on This American Life brought me to a halt. This piece entitled “Hey, Dad. Dad!” was immediately followed by the equally poignant “Call Me Maybe.” I’m sure all the recent events of the past few months had primed my pump, but I instantly found new meaning in the old adage “There’s no time like the present” and I knew what I wanted to do. I invite you to give these two pieces a listen—whether you do it now or later, I think they are worthy of your time. Here are the links:
As I listened to these two marvelously-done pieces back-to-back, it dawned on me that, except for this brief sliver of a moment we call the present, everything else is past and is circumscribed by our memories. All that we can know is memory; all that we know about someone else, all that they know about us is steeped in our memories of past events, those shared and those experienced separately. And I think it’s our obligation to relate them to others. Isn’t that the very essence of any meaningful relationship? At this point in my life I realize that I am being compelled, more forcefully than ever, to relate some of my thoughts and recollections, not so as to document the past, though I certainly want my family to know more about me and my up-bringing, but to build and strengthen relationships, new and old, and to remind myself of who I am. To borrow a line from Willie Morris, “I have stories I want to tell… writing is the burden of memory.” I don’t pretend to know all that Willie meant by that statement, but to me it’s saying that if I want to get this weight off my shoulders, I better get cracking. I wish I’d started years ago; perhaps it’s not too late.
Left to right: Reynolds ‘Punk’ Lott (Daddy), Warren Bond, Burnell Lott, and Gorden Bond.
Taken in 1953, the year I was born, this picture of my dad and his brother and two of my mom’s brothers, all standing elbow-to-elbow, is one of my favorites. It resonates with me that they are alternating, Lott, Bond, Lott, Bond. This speaks loudly of the closeness of our family.
Words to Ponder
re·late (verb): to give an account of an event or sequence of events; narrate.
re·la·tion·ship (noun): an emotional connection or association between two people.
Source: merriam-webster.com
Song of the Day
“In My Life” by The Beatles (Rubber Soul, 1965)