Tag: memories

30 Years

On By NB GwenIn The JourneyLeave a comment

“If you remember me, then I don’t care if everyone else forgets.” ― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

30 years ago today, my best friend would answer my call and excitedly tell me about her new stockings her mom found to match her dress. She was prepared for junior prom, the dance at the end of 9th grade at that time. She told me how they were a perfect match for her black and purple dress.

Then, she told me she had to go. She was going to hang out with a different group that night but would call me when she got back for curfew.

She never called.

Six days later, they would find the body of Pamela ‘Pam Pam’ Gail Bischoff in the river.

We knew she wasn’t a runaway, even though they tried to tell us she was.

We knew she would never leave without telling us.

We knew it was going to be bad.

Pam would have loved Pink, or at least I would like to think so. I know the song below seems a strange one to pick for a memorial post, but trust me – Pam would have loved this song. She had the attitude, she had the spunk.

30 years later, I still remember the sound of her voice and her laugh, even when other memories have faded.

Her signature on my old jean jacket

30 years later, I still wonder if she would have been auntie Pam to her friends’ kids, have kids of her own. She would be so proud of her sister and nieces.

30 years later, I still wonder why.

30 years later, it still feels like yesterday.

Yesterday, she talked me into hitchhiking (omg Pam lol).

Yesterday, she and I rolled old tobacco into a somewhat smokeable cigarette (I quit a long time ago now, Pam).

Yesterday, we drank a magnum of Hermits – never to do that again (I don’t even drink anymore, Pam)

Yesterday, we were staring up at your Poison poster over your bed, talking about which of the band was hottest (I still listen to them now and then, but not often as I think of you each time, Pam).

Yesterday, you were telling me about that guy who was so hot (I’ve been married twice now, Pam, number 2 is amazing).

Yesterday, I was able to hug you.

30 years feels like yesterday. You would have loved this song, Pam. You had that attitude and it made you larger than life.

Pink – U + Ur Hand

Hurt

On By NB GwenIn The JourneyLeave a comment

“Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word.” ― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

It’s funny the things that can trigger memories and bring them to the fore.

A song. A word. An action.

Sometimes the memories are incredible. My friends and I on the beach. Sun glinting in my eyes, the smell of freshwater, the laughing, the ability to just be.

Sometimes the memories are just that – memories. A smell, a sense of déjà vu. A heartbeat skipped in a moment, breath caught up in the wind.

Sometimes, though, sometimes the memories are dark. Lost loved ones – buried six feet under, never to be seen in this life again. Harsh words. Regrets of actions not taken. An ache in the chest so deep it bears witness to the emptiness that lies within. It can be put aside, forced to lay dormant until that moment – a song comes on the radio, sudden intake of breath, burning in the eyes, memories of loss, hurt, anguish.

Why do the hurtful ones seem the strongest? What is it about anguish?

I sit here typing, Hurt on repeat. It is trapped in a loop, just as I am. I missed a step somewhere along the way. I’ve had others tell me that I need to be in the moment. I need to move on. Mindfulness, they say, is the way to let go of that ache, that stress, that hurt.

But how? How does one forget and move on? Maybe forget is the wrong word, but as awful as my short term memory is, my long term memory is strong, sometimes too strong…

I’ve let myself down. I really don’t know what I’ve become or who I am anymore.  I put on a good show, I act like I know. But I don’t, and I can’t start over, I can’t keep myself from falling away. Everything feels surreal, and yet so incredibly, solidly real.

Johnny Cash – Hurt

Edie

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“i have laughed
more than daffodils
and cried more than June.”
― Sanober Khan

Sometimes it only takes one word for a bittersweet rush of memories to flood in.

I’ve been listening to Edie (Ciao Baby) on repeat all morning. I get obsessed with a song from time to time. A friend has a cat named Edie. I hear her name and instantly this song comes to mind.

Along with the song comes a flood of memories…teen to young adult memories. Driving in the summer with friends to the beach. The sun glittering off the water blinding me. The smell of the woodlands. The evanescent sense of embracing a love.

Memories of concerts loud, booming, throbbing with bodies moving in time. Closeness as that first kiss is on the verge of becoming true.

Memories of driving too fast. The rush of adrenaline from tipping it a little too far. The carefree roaming through a fairground, friends surrounding me.

Memories of lost ones, their voices still an echo in my mind. The feeling of the wind rushing past my waist-length hair out a car window. The spinning of the world, watching the stars in a swirl of light and bliss (usually alcohol driven at the time).

Memories of laughter, pleasure, naivety, innocence, pure unadulterated joy. The awfulness of hurt washed away in a flood of being.

Memories of times so wistful they have a dream-like iridescence about them.

Where has that young woman gone? Quiet rebellion, dancing with every song, moving amongst the throng of bodies; the music so loud our ears would ring and we did not care. We hugged, we laughed, we danced, we drank too much, we were.

Where has that sense of endless being gone? The tears fall freely, the sense of longing and loss are bitter pills to swallow. I’ve dreamt of recapturing that essence, but how?

“The dogs lay at your feet, Edie
Oh, we caressed your cheek
Oh, stars wrapped in your hair
Oh, life without a care
Ciao baby”

The Cult – Edie (Ciao Baby)

Days go by

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“In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die: 
Ever drifting down the stream- Lingering in the golden gleam- Life, what is it but a dream?” ― Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

Today is a good day. At least, I think it is.

It’s funny how you can wake up and feel like things are good or they are bad…or they just are.

The older I get, the more it feels like time is just an illusion – we believe it keeps a steady pace, but it rushes on and slows are the most inopportune times.

I’ve been very self-examinatory lately. My oldest child will be turning 18 in a few months and finishes high school this school year. My middle child is turning 16 soon. My youngest is going to be 4 in a few months. How has so much time already flown by? How can my first baby have gone from being in my arms to preparing for her adult life?

I’ve never been a perfect parent. Far from it I feel. I feel that I’ve missed too much, not done enough, not been enough. I try – by all the powers, I have tried.

The days go by at a pace that leaves me behind. I remember when my eldest was born, how hard it was. I remember when we adopted my middle child, my sunshine boy. I remember the fear of having a section when I had my youngest – he decided coming feet first into the world was a great idea (a week before he was due no less!).

I remember the first time I saw my first neurologist and was told I have MS. I remember my doctor telling me I have osteoarthritis (I was even younger then). I remember the first time I smoked a cigarette, I remember how I quit but not how long ago it was. It feels like forever.

I can’t remember my first kiss, but I do remember my first real boyfriend.

Memories.

They are so easily lost.

I find myself constantly trying to remember. My brain has become my enemy and I try to befriend it again over and over.

Days go by, but the memories ebb and flow.

Dirty Vegas – Days go by