Lacunae

I have plenty of gaps in my brain - spots where the axons and dendrites sticking out from my poor tired neurons are slightly withered and curled, too worn out to hoist those electrical impulses across the micron or two that separates them.  So they keep memories, and other useful bit of information hoarded up.  Why those neurons are tired is beyond me.  It's highly doubtful that my life has been so exciting up to this point that some down time is necessary.  Although it could have been.

I just can't remember.

Every now and then I'll catch a fleeting glimpse into the past.  Oh, I DID go roller skating!  It was for Britney's 12th birthday.  I wore those awesome turquoise AND pink socks - layered (because that was cool, uh huh.)  We ate her cake in the smelly banquet room with the one-piece plastic chairs and the full window so you could see the disco ball flashing during the slow songs.  

That did happen, right?

Anyway, I've come to terms with the fact that much of what I experience on a day to day basis will be lost.  If I'm lucky some of it will get mashed together into 'group' memories.  Composites of life.  Like the time I was driving home after a rough day in third grade and all I could think about was the quickly approaching college application essay deadline and my loose baby tooth that I was dreading having to pull. 

Everyone has had those memories, right?

I journal as much as a I can but even then I'm only scratching the surface of all those sweet moments with Owen, the meaningful talks with Jon, the laughs with Gina and our friends, the words of encouragement that help so much from family.  

But it's not like this is a new problem.  Or one unique to me.

The night before our wedding Jon and I were surrounded by friends and family - eat

ing and laughing at a little Italian restaurant in Harrisonburg, VA.  Despite the stress of the preceding weeks we were getting ready to be ushered into a new realm of life bundled up with the love and support of so many close people.   It was a special moment and I whispered in Jon's ear that we should take a moment, absorb this, remember this, wrap it up and tuck it away.  We sat close together,  singles for the last time, watching the scene around us.

I don't remember everything from that night.  A few minutes later Jon's groomsmen picked him up and carried him out of the room without saying goodbye (but I'm over it, really) and the moment was swept away as I went back to my half-unpacked apartment alone.   But there is a sense of that night that I still carry with me.

I store it along with the sense I kept from the first moment we found out we were pregnant, the moment I knew I was in labor, the moment I met Owen.  Those treasures are still there.  Details are lost, but the flavor and spirit of the moment, the unspoken transactions, the sound of my heart exploding in my chest, the feeling of anticipation, the nervous excitement, those things are still there - easy to conjure up and roll around in my hands a bit to re-experience.

This year one of the goals highest up on my list is to continue and expand this commitment to LIVE IN THE MOMENT.  To be present, to be aware. To ponder things in my heart more.  

One day I'll relive my life.  I picture it being on a huge, drive-in movie screen.  With popcorn.  There will be a lot of laughing, a lot of crying, a ton of "I totally forgot about that!" moments.

It will be wonderful.  And scary.  

For now though I'm content to live with dark spaces, blank film mixed in with memories.  I know I'm saving the best bits.  And I can rest easy knowing that, even if I don't remember it, I made the most of all the moments in between.