We all have remembered dates noted on our mental calendars: birthdays and anniversaries, but I've always had such a good memory of the history of my days that I carry a lifetime of associations with dates. People have told me they are envious of good memory. I've always said it's a blessing...and a curse. You remember the good things, but also the bad.
This summer I had a conversation with someone who was once close to me, and he told me "I have never forgotten a thing." He meant "about us." I held him to his boast when I asked him if he remembered what had occurred on the day we were speaking. My mere mention of it angered him so much he hasn't spoken to me since. Granted, it was a time when he acted less honorably than he should have with me. I've had time to regret mentioning it in hindsight, but in my own defense the matter preyed on my mind that day. Now when I remember that day next summer, I will undoubtedly go back to what happened that day in 2000, and factor in his ongoing silence of 2005 as another remembrance. Today is another one of those days, and it too involves Mr. Mute. Sadly, I remember what happened on this date in 2002, but I am sure he doesn't. I wish I didn't.
I asked my friends their feelings about dates and memories. They said when they are life-transforming you never forget them, and we are attached to them in the sense of experiences creating who we are. People say "we are only what we remember." I suppose this is true. Having been around people with Alzheimer's: people who lose all sense of their history and their selves, I've seen their personalities altered forever from that loss. It truly is frightening to see a person disappear before you, so I should be glad I haven't been ravaged by such a fate.
But... there are times when I have to ask and even wish, "Why remember?"
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