September 2004 Issue - Essay # 4
Memories
By
Leslie Friesen
Senility is slowly absorbing my mind. Friends and family reassure me that my forgetfulness is merely a combination of a post-40 mind struggling to cope with the challenging tasks required of a single mother with four active children. I'm quite sure that they are wrong. My struggle to remember cannot be a simple case of a weary mind in a busy world. I can no longer recall the happy memories of joyous Christmas mornings with my children and their dad. The laughter, hot chocolate and song have all slipped away. I do remember the Christmas tree crashing down and the treasured ornaments lying smashed on the hardwood floor. My daughter’s tears are fresh in my memory, as is the look of intense anger in my quiet son's eyes. Where are the recollections of the happy family vacations together? I see images in dusty photo albums where the people appear to be happy. Those images have been erased from my memory. Although not in the medical books, I have learned that senility is selective in which images it chooses to destroy and in which it allows to survive. For instance, I remember vividly the command to keep the children, then ages four and two, silent in the backseat so that he could listen to the Rush Limbaugh radio show in peace during the three-hour long drive to visit his parents. I remember the fear in the children's eyes when the doors slammed so hard that the van shook at the border rest stop. I remember the terror of driving 80 miles an hour along the hairpin curves and sheer drop-offs of Lake Shasta and the Siskiyou Mountains because we weren't quiet enough for dad to hear his show. We learned the hard way to be quiet. The “or else” threat always hung heavy in the air. The disease eats away at all sensory reflection as well. Surely memories of soft words, encouragement or praise once existed in our marriage, but they slipped away long ago. I'm certain they were there to begin with. All that I recall now are harsh seething statements meant to hurt. The hiss of "Why don't you learn to be a mother?" rings vividly in my mind. Losing thirty pounds earned, "You'll look okay when you lose another twenty." Often, the voice that visits my nighttime dreams echoes in the back of mind throughout the rest of the day. I draw comfort in knowing that one day the disease will, in kindness, eat away at that portion of my memory as well. I'm certain that senility is conquering my mind and robbing me of the positive memories. We lived together for fifteen years and raised four children. Surely there were good times. Weren't there?
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Author's Biography Leslie Friesen (friesenleslie(a)qwest.net) is a single mother of four
children and professional web designer.
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Essay
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