I Don’t Want to Forget You

When memory loss pulls pages out of your mental scrapbook, find what’s left and rebuild from there.

I’ve been slowly revisiting parts of my past, piecing together chunks of a time long forgotten through loose pictures, yearbooks, and photo albums. I do this with excitement and trepidation. I feel the mental pause and anxiety reaching for the existence of a place, time, or face in which I know I was present.

I am well aware of the decline, especially over the last ten years. I can only assume the 36 years starving my brain with an Eating Disorder, self-induced pressure, and stress involved to hide it and maintain a hollow existence in my life sped up the rate of events disappearing. So, I put on my writer hat to research, investigate, dig for the unseen, and reveal the vulnerable parts of myself left without a goodbye.

Who are you?

A forgotten face or moment isn’t a true reflection of its significance. Some intense emotions or gentle nudges are bonded with it, instead.

Some memory loss may be protecting me from pain I don’t need to relive or devastating sadness for what is no more. It may be degeneration genetically, merely age, or medical related. Maybe I wanted to be a better version of me for you, so that version has faded with time.

If I have a picture, I keep it for a purpose. That tick of the clock at that moment preserves its meaning. I may not remember your name or you, mine. I may recognize a name, but the face is but a stranger.

These honorable characters moved through time with me and wrote chapters in my story. I would be so blessed to speak with them again and to save what was lost or plant new seeds of friendship in the richest soil.

What can I learn from you?

My family shares stories as we periodically go through old slides. They are often first viewed upside down until we remember how the ancient treasure is loaded. It’s the same pictures, and they haven’t changed. I still learn something new from the story of the relative in it, what came before or after the image, and details appear I have missed the last time.

My younger brother, Bryan Hauer, was a Freshman in High School when I was a Senior. He became close with a foundational group of my friends that extended beyond even my years in the town. He’s been my trusty backup memory to quite a few events and filled in many holes in stories I can’t believe I’d forget. I am indebted to him for extra laughs, gasps, and heartfelt tears of joy.

I looked through old yearbooks admiring the outrageous styles and statements. It taught me respect for freedom, choice, and allowances when making mistakes. I give a nod of the highest regard to my Father (the principal to every school I attended and once District Superintendent with his office in my high school). His compassion, patience, and forgiveness for my mistakes, let alone thousands of kids in his lifetime, are limitless and worth more than any amount of accolades received as an educated individual.

I don’t have as many pictures of my older brother as he liked to assert his freedom of choice to not be in the photo at times. I have more letters and cards from when I was in grade school till this day from him, thoughtfully written and genuinely expressed in detail to my life. I didn’t need the picture to remind me how he cares and who he is to me.

I didn't understand why my Mom was a present force of positive nature in my life but less in the pictures till I became a Mom. She was almost always behind the camera, capturing the milestones and the quiet, unassuming instances to be cherished. She was the author to the pieces of my puzzle growing up who still stands in for me if I’m away from my child’s event or more kids than adults. I learned a life of unconditional love, support, and faith from her always believing in me.

Holding on to the pieces

I don’t need a complete timeline of reassurances that I was loved and have loved. Texture, color, and music fills the voids and is composed in the breaths that carry me home.

I will be thrilled if I remember more of my days living, people met, friendships shared, and loves requited.

I am opening my heart and mind to reconnect in the time granted left on this Earth.

Sending my deep gratitude and goodbye before either of us hopefully, need it

I don’t want to forget you but if I do, let me say, “It has been an honor sharing precious space in this world, words, and laughter between us, shoulders to cry on, struggles to endure by your side and celebrations of blessings.”

How will I remember you, my family of writers? Your stories have left fingerprints grabbing hold of my heart that can never be erased.

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