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Just heard a song that talked about a memory I don’t mess with. What an incredibly sweet song. I started thinking about memories that I have. Memories that I want to forget, memories that I’m afraid I’ll forget, and memories that are always there. Isn’t it funny how a smell or a song can bring up a memory? My grandmother died when I was 19. I was in college, and I remember the phone call. I remember every single moment that happened after that phone call. I remember the viewing, the graveside ceremony. I remember what I was wearing. I was in a fog that day. It was surreal, she was the first person super close to me that passed away and that was the first time I ever had a panic attack. I didn’t know at the time that it was a panic attack. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t catch my breath, crying uncontrollably, and then I fell. My knees gave out. Thank goodness for Nechia who was there with me the whole time and caught me. I bring that up to say that my Granny had a specific smell. I don’t know what the name of it was, but I can be in a store or at work and smell it and it takes me right back to her kitchen table. Sitting in a blue robe, which I now have, drinking black coffee out of a brown coffee mug and smoking a cigarette. Such a vivid memory. I can hear her laugh. I remember Thursday night spaghetti dinners. All of us gathered around her big, round kitchen table. Lots of conversation about lots of different things. That’s a memory I have every time I make spaghetti for dinner. It floods me with warmth. It brings me such joy. Memories are funny like that. Some I wish I could forget. Some are associated with shame. Some are funny, happy, sad, exhausting, you get the idea. A song can take you back to a lover that you no longer have. I friend that you don’t see much but know that they still have your back. Memories are like quilts. So many squares. Each square representing something from your memory. The good the bad and the ugly as they say. One square may cause you to cry yourself to sleep at night. Another square can make you laugh uncontrollably, while yet another square can bring you to your knees. Do we get to decide what we remember? What memories take up residence in our heads? I find that I can’t control them. I remember everything. Some may say that’s a good thing and maybe it is. But what about the memories that embarrass us, or make sure feel shame. I don’t want to feel those feelings. They hurt; they stab like a knife. They are a constant reminder of all that is wrong in my past. We can’t outrun our past, we can just learn from it. I try not to go to the dark box of memories. I try to keep them tucked away, but sometimes, that song comes on and the flood gates open. The tears flow, the shame comes to the surface. Those are the times I feel most alone. No one to comfort me. No one to remind me that the past is just that, the past. That the past doesn’t define me. What’s strange is that I know this. I tell friends/family this all the time about their lives, but for some reason, I can’t make myself believe it about me. I can uplift everyone else when their memories take over, but when my memories take over, I fall back into my cave. My dark cave that I feel most comfortable in. The one that I am desperate to get out of, but not sure how. If you could change your memories, would you? If we had the ability to go into the compartment and mess with them, would we? Should we? Would it change our lives, change the person we are? I think it would. Every memory makes up a part of your character. It makes us who we are. My divorce is painful, but my wedding was beautiful. I like that memory, wearing the dress, walking down the aisle, promising forever, and meaning it with every fiber I had in me. Dancing at the reception. Leaving and driving to our honeymoon. Starving because I was too nervous and anxious to eat that day. It was beautiful. The reception was perfect. The music was perfect. This is a memory I don’t want to forget. It is sometimes a painful memory, but a happy memory. Usually, I think of that day when I hear a song, or when I get a wedding invitation. I think of what might have been. What I wanted it to be. What it inevitably turned into. Just because something ends doesn’t mean it wasn’t beautiful. I then go to the day that it was decided we would divorce. I remember everything about that day as well. The date, what I was doing, what was said, where I was sitting, everything. That is a devastating memory. It is something that keeps me up at night, sometimes. That memory makes me feel like a failure. That memory I like to keep locked away. So many memories that can flood your mind, your body, even your soul. Those are memories I don’t mess with.