Tag Archives: memories

January 21, 2014 · 7:31 pm

Other people’s memories: “Half a Life”

A memoir that relies heavily upon the memories of a single life-changing event is “Half a Life” by Darin Strauss. I’m sure you’ve read many stories about a tragic car accident that claims the life of an innocent person. While often alcohol and drugs are involved, sometimes these events are truly accidents, with no direct fault assigned to the person behind the wheel. Have you ever wondered what happens to these people? To know, even if you weren’t directly at fault, that your actions claimed the life of another human being … how would you manage to go on with your life carrying that memory? Well, author Darin Strauss knows, because he was the person behind the wheel of the car that struck and killed a classmate who was riding a bicycle.

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Strauss had just turned 18, and perhaps the inattention and inexperience of a young driver played roles in the accident. Still, no charges were ever filed and his community, even the deceased classmate’s parents seemed to forgive Strauss. But then the grieving parents decided to sue Strauss for millions of dollars, and the case dragged on for several years, thwarting Strauss from moving on with his life. Even though he saw a therapist, he never worked through his guilt and other feelings surrounding the tragedy. He did what many of us try to do during difficult situations: he put a smile on his face and carried on, suppressing his emotions.

The memory of the accident haunts all facets of his life, from work to friendships to the dating scene. Not only do the lingering memories of the accident have a negative impact on his emotional well-being, they physically make him ill and he has to have stomach surgery before turning 30.

Finally, as he marries and becomes a father, he decides to engage in the best therapy of all for a writer: he would write about the experience in a memoir. The result is a powerful work, and a lesson for all of us trying to process difficult memories. I was very moved by this book and highly recommend it.

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January 5, 2014 · 9:16 am

The impact of other people’s memories

I want to focus the rest of my January posts on the power that learning of other people’s memories have on us. Over my next posts, I will highlight some of my favorite memoirs, and the vivid memories that really stuck with me long after I finished the book. This time around, I want to talk about the essay featured in the current issue of The Atlantic titled, Surviving Anxiety. It is written by the magazine’s editor, Scott Stossel. It is an excerpt from his upcoming book, which is now on my reading list.

Scott suffers from severe anxiety and several different phobias. I don’t share his extreme level of anxiety, but I do share some of his phobias, like public speaking and vomiting (of which there is a related phobia that I also share, that being vomiting while flying.) He also suffers from digestive issues, which I can certainly sympathize with, as I have experienced numerous digestive issues mainly tied to my gluten intolerance. He writes a compelling and moving account of how these conditions have impacted his life, both negatively and positively. He talks about the pros and cons of the many treatment options he has endured. He bravely shares humiliating episodes where his anxiety or digestive problems rear their ugly heads.

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Scott shares a particularly embarrassing bathroom episode that occurred at the Kennedy compound. (The author was writing a book about one of the Kennedy family members and was spending some time there along with a mix of celebrities and dignitaries.) Scott feels his bowels betray him at the worst moment, when he is not near a public restroom. He runs back to the mansion, trying to avoid other guests and secret service members. He makes it to the restroom but then the worst case scenario happens: the toilet backs up and overflows. He is covered in sewage. Talk about bad timing: just across the hallway from the bathroom, guests are gathering for cocktail hour. Scott cleans up as best he can, then has to wrap a dirty towel around his waist (his pants were ruined) and sprint to his second-floor suite. He makes it, but not before encountering JFK Jr. That experience could make anyone with anxiety want to crawl under a rock and never come out.

He also writes about how he went to therapy for his vomiting phobia and his therapist wanted to use exposure therapy to “cure” him. Meaning, she wanted him to take ipecac and deliberately make himself throw up. After at first refusing and putting it off for several sessions, he finally agrees to do it. But after taking the dose, he doesn’t actually throw up, he just retches. It was an agonizing experience that only strengthened his vomiting phobia. (Ironically, after cheering on her client during the exposure therapy, the therapist herself had to go home because she got sick from watching him try to vomit!)

These memories are written in excruciating detail, with every anxious thought and feeling captured. They struck a chord with me and rolled around in my mind for the rest of the day. My takeaways: you never know what is really going on in someone’s head. (Obviously, as editor of a well-known magazine, Scott has been able to manage his anxiety to a certain extent and still be a successful person.) Also, all of these anxious thoughts and feelings and phobias sound crazy if you haven’t experienced them, but from the response the article has received, there are plenty of anxious people out there who completely understand. I am one of them.

What memories from other people have had a meaningful impact on your life?

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July 22, 2013 · 1:15 pm

A solo performance

Friday was my 39th birthday. This year I have a lot to be grateful for, compared to the grim circumstances of my last birthday. Mom was just 11 days out of major surgery at this point last year and in a skilled nursing facility so she could learn how to walk again. She had a colostomy bag and there was no way to know if the cancer had been successfully removed at that point. I visited her at the nursing home and she labored in writing me a birthday note. I was touched by her effort, which I recorded in last year’s birthday post.

bday cake

Mom has come a long way in the last year. Things are almost back to “normal” whatever that is. Of course, Dad is and always will be the missing piece of that puzzle. As I’ve written before, the long-standing tradition was for my parents to sing “Happy Birthday” to me over the phone, since I usually was not with them for my birthday. They would practice and Dad loved the chance to break out his Bing Crosby impersonation. Last year, things were so crazy that I didn’t even think about the birthday serenade.

This year, Mom was ready for her solo performance. But as she began she was clearly choked up. It took me a moment to understand why and then I knew she was missing Dad as her duet partner. But she got through it and did the big dramatic ending that she used to do with Dad. It made me smile and tear up at the same time.

At some point after losing someone close to you, you adjust for the most part to a “new normal” in your day-to-day living. It’s in these small, rare special moments that the loss hurts the heart the most.

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January 2, 2013 · 6:13 pm

Dad trying to keep warm

It’s been a bit chilly here lately, and when I stop to rub my hands together to warm them, I can’t help but think of Dad. I can still see a crystal-clear image in my mind of Dad standing outside our apartment building, before or after a smoke, and the dramatic way he would rub his hands together. “It’s cooold,” he would exclaim, though southern California winters were as mild as they could be, especially compared to his childhood in Belfast.

mittens

When my parents moved to the mountains of New Mexico, Dad experienced bitterly cold winters for the first time since his young adult days in England and New York City. I don’t remember him ever wearing gloves, but he would wear a big bulky jacket that threatened to swallow him whole. And I can see him standing by the car, the last one he would ever drive, and rub his hands together, fast and hard, trying to keep them from going numb.

My hands are always the first thing to ache when I’m out in cold weather. Still, I rarely break out the gloves. I just instinctively rub them together, though the warmth it generates may be more nostalgic than anything else.

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October 13, 2012 · 9:07 pm

Dad’s presence stronger at home now

Mom was telling me today how she feels Dad’s presence more at home now than before. It’s almost been a year since Dad died, and another year before that when he still lived at home.

Perhaps because Mom has had her own brush with death this summer she is more open and vulnerable to these feelings. I can’t say that I’ve felt Dad’s presence at my parents’ home, though Dad’s ashes sit on the dresser of my room. I’ve certainly thought about him daily, and little things around the house remind me of him and of better times spent there.

Mom said she feels Dad’s presence the most at night. To this day, she only sleeps on “her” side of their bed, leaving Dad’s side untouched.

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September 16, 2012 · 8:00 pm

Dad’s nursing home experience a mystery

Dad spent about 10 months at the nursing home before he became ill and landed in the hospital, then was transferred to a skilled nursing facility where he died.

Mom spent just over six weeks at a nursing home. She still talks about the place like it’s a second home. She knew all of the workers and residents on her wing by name. She even talks on the phone with her former roommate from there.

Thanks to Mom, I knew every detail about the nursing home operations and was kept updated on all of the nursing home gossip.

Dad and I at the assisted living facility, March 2011.

It just struck me recently how little I knew about Dad’s experiences at the nursing home. Almost all of the information gleaned from his stay was from third-party sources: nurses, aides and my mom. By the time Dad entered the nursing home, he wasn’t communicating that much. What we did learn from Dad directly was that he had a falling out with his roommate. (Mom also had a falling out with her second roommate; nursing homes are not much different than high school when it comes to petty squabbles!)

On one of my visits to Dad’s nursing home, he told me which residents couldn’t be trusted. Unlike Mom, who was a social butterfly at her nursing home, Dad seemed to be a loner who didn’t interact with fellow residents. Without the dementia, I’m not sure how Dad would have reacted to having to stay in a nursing home. I think he would have been okay as long as he could have his smoking breaks!

It’s interesting to see my parents go through somewhat similar experiences (emergency surgery, long hospital stay, nursing home) but react in such different ways. I just wonder what stories I will never know about Dad’s stay at the nursing home.

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August 28, 2012 · 8:47 pm

Dad at the diner

Here’s another one of these photos of Dad which I have no story for. I never saw this photo until I was going through Dad’s belongings after his death. I can make some guesses about the time period, but I have no idea about location or who took the photo.

I was talking to one of the librarians that knew my dad well and was giving her the update on Mom. She told me to brace myself and ask all of the questions that I want answers to now. I told her that’s exactly what I was doing, because I missed that opportunity with Dad and it is one of the things I regret the most.

The librarian still remembers Dad’s haunted hotel story after all of these years. She said she told him at the time to write it down, because it was such a good story. I assured her that I have recorded it in this blog, though I don’t have all of the details that Dad included in his version of events. I wish I had recorded that one in an audio or video file, because it is one worth hearing aloud. Alas, another missed opportunity.

Despite technology’s ability to isolate humans, I think it has also made recording memories easier, via text, photos, video and audio tools that are built right into most people’s phones and is easy for anyone to use.

Hopefully, people will be able to set aside that game of Angry Birds long enough to take advantage of these valuable resources.

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August 27, 2012 · 9:52 pm

Snapshots of memories

I have started collecting the family photos I’ve shared through this blog and posted them on Pinterest. It’s a nice visual way to view some of the memories I’ve covered on the blog.

Family Photos on Pinterest

Proud papa.

I put up the photos randomly, and viewing the board really gives one a sense of the roller coaster ride we all are on as we navigate our way through our lives. I can see Dad as a hopeful, handsome young man, as a loving father and as a sad, broken soul losing his battle with Alzheimer’s. All of those memories, all of those emotions in less than 20 photos. It really strikes home how photos tell the stories of our lives so viscerally. I think words help fill in those blanks that the photos can’t cover, so both are equally important.

I’ll be adding more to the board as I go along. If you have a board of family photos on Pinterest, let me know, I’d love to check it out. I am fascinated by old family photos whether they are of my own family or of total strangers!

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August 25, 2012 · 8:01 pm

The scent of a loved one

Mom has always had her quirks when it comes to how her home is set up. For example, she kept her clothes in the spare room closet instead of the master bedroom where she slept. When I was setting things up for her to come home, making things easy for her to get to was a priority, so I moved her easy-to-access clothes into the main bedroom closet.

When I opened the closet, I got a whiff of why Mom may have had things set up the way she did. I could still faintly smell Dad’s scent of cigarettes and aftershave lingering on his sweaters and jackets. She had even kept one of his hospital gowns.

So I compromised. I moved a few of her clothes into the main closet, and moved some of Dad’s stuff into the second bedroom closet. That way, Dad’s scent can be in both places.

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June 3, 2012 · 6:30 pm

The scent of the departed

I just talked to Mom, and she’s still missing Dad a lot, which is understandable, since he has been gone less than six months. Everyone’s grief process works a bit differently. I have a feeling Mom will grieve herself into her own grave. She is good about getting out of the house so she can interact socially with other people, which is very important.

But she admitted to me that she had not been able to go through any of Dad’s belongings yet, other than what had come from the nursing home. She keeps most of her clothes in a separate closet, but she says when she does have to open their shared closet, she feels like she can still catch a scent of Dad lingering in the clothes that haven’t been worn in well over a year.

Scents of people are a funny thing … they linger in the memory. I’ll always remember my dad’s scent of cigarettes and aftershave.

It makes me think about how many people’s scents I’m hit with on a daily basis, going to work on the subway. Perfume, cigarettes, alcohol, sweat, babies … it runs the gamut of human experience.

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