Earliest Memory
I used to have a memory of sitting in my high chair in a dining room. In my head the room is slightly pinkish—not Barbie pink, but rose pink or mauve—and I'm at the corner of the table. The furniture is dark and has those flowery curves to the arms and back.There are other people there. I'm pretty sure I'm eating cake.
I say "used to" because I remember feeling that this memory was certain, that it was my earliest memory. I used to be able to tell you what people were there, what people were saying, what I was doing. There might have been presents, there might have been streamers. But over time the memory has gotten fuzzier and fuzzier and now I'm not sure if I made it up or if it's actually real. I could be remembering my brother, it could be another baby, it could be something from a movie or tv show. I could be merging a bunch of memories together and adding content from my own imagination. I just don't know any more.
So that memory is lost. But I have another memory that I do feel certain of. I don't know when it was—it might have been when Grandpa stayed with me when my brother was born, which would have made me just about 3 years old. But I do know I'm in my bed, in a white, sunny room with border paper with rainbows on it along the wall at the ceiling. My grandpa opens the door, just a couple inches, and smiles at me, his eyes crinkling, like he's excited to see me and excited for me to wake up so we can hang out together. The grin takes over my face—I couldn't stop it if I wanted to—my cheeks bunched, a giggle at the back of my throat, my face half buried in my pillow. I'm deep down happy, nestled in my blankets and smiling back at my grandpa.
Wherever I go in life I have that memory with me, of feeling completely safe and loved and excited about what's ahead of me. Nothing was wrong, there wasn't anything to worry about. I wish every child could have a memory like that.
What if when you die you could rewatch a video of your life, fast-forwarding and rewinding and pausing, feeling every high and low and bitter twinge of regret? Except even the bad parts, even the mistakes, would now be wrapped up in the context of whatever mysteries you're privy to now that you've passed into something beyond life?
Would we watch this video over and over, or would it be inconsequential now? Would we turn away without any urge or longing to revisit what was?
I say "used to" because I remember feeling that this memory was certain, that it was my earliest memory. I used to be able to tell you what people were there, what people were saying, what I was doing. There might have been presents, there might have been streamers. But over time the memory has gotten fuzzier and fuzzier and now I'm not sure if I made it up or if it's actually real. I could be remembering my brother, it could be another baby, it could be something from a movie or tv show. I could be merging a bunch of memories together and adding content from my own imagination. I just don't know any more.
So that memory is lost. But I have another memory that I do feel certain of. I don't know when it was—it might have been when Grandpa stayed with me when my brother was born, which would have made me just about 3 years old. But I do know I'm in my bed, in a white, sunny room with border paper with rainbows on it along the wall at the ceiling. My grandpa opens the door, just a couple inches, and smiles at me, his eyes crinkling, like he's excited to see me and excited for me to wake up so we can hang out together. The grin takes over my face—I couldn't stop it if I wanted to—my cheeks bunched, a giggle at the back of my throat, my face half buried in my pillow. I'm deep down happy, nestled in my blankets and smiling back at my grandpa.
Wherever I go in life I have that memory with me, of feeling completely safe and loved and excited about what's ahead of me. Nothing was wrong, there wasn't anything to worry about. I wish every child could have a memory like that.
What if when you die you could rewatch a video of your life, fast-forwarding and rewinding and pausing, feeling every high and low and bitter twinge of regret? Except even the bad parts, even the mistakes, would now be wrapped up in the context of whatever mysteries you're privy to now that you've passed into something beyond life?
Would we watch this video over and over, or would it be inconsequential now? Would we turn away without any urge or longing to revisit what was?