Strange Complaints

When my aunt Linda had a chance to read my column from last week she mentioned that I’d gotten something wrong. My uncle Caffery did not die a month after his youngest daughter passed away. Kimberly died in 1985 while my uncle passed away in 1989.

I’m not sure what to make of that. How am I supposed to trust my memory on anything really, when it makes a mistake like that.

My maternal grandfather, Leon, passed away in 1988. I’d have sworn on a stack of bibles and his very soul that he’d outlived my uncle Caffery by years. Finding out that he didn’t shook me a bit down to my roots.

At my age it has me worrying about what other things I’ve either remembered wrong or, even worse, forgotten.

While growing up I didn’t pay as much attention to things as I should have, and I know I sure didn’t ask enough questions for answers I wish I knew now. 

Things that happened that I remember were different, though. Even though there was a whole wealth of family history I wasn’t aware of (simply for the lack of asking) I could always count on the things that happened in my life.

At least, that’s what I thought. I’m imagining my memories are filed much like I used to file my work desk at the paper. Instead of being filed sensibly they’re simply piled willy-nilly on top of the desk and maybe some nearby shelves. At some point I must have fallen and knocked that desk over and all those papers shuffled themselves into a different order. Things I was positive happened at this point now turn out to have happened at another, if they happened at all.

Thankfully I’ve not arrived at the point where I’m remembering things that never happened.. or (that I’m aware of!) forgetting important things and swearing that never happened.

When my wife’s mother lived with us I saw first-hand how memory is a fragile thing, as we were all helping her through her diagnosis of vascular dementia. Dementia is a terribly sad disease. It slowly takes away the very things that make us who we are or at least who we assumed we were. That’s not to say that I’m equating dementia to my misremembering when my godfather passed away…

It just worries me that my memories can be both rock-solid and certain and yet still be years off the mark.

Anyways, until later…