Fear of Forgetting

It's been forever since I've found myself here on a Saturday morning. I think my presence this morning might be prompted by the grey, rainy day. Windy too like raining sideways. I love it. It coincides with my mood. Not gloomy, but turbulent so it's best to stay close to home. It's a two cuppa morning with a good book. The kids are still sleeping and probably will be for hours so there's nothing pressing. Not that they press all that much at 13 and 17.

Teddy has prom tonight. He tried on his tux last night and I had to contain my compliments lest it get uncomfortable. He looked like ten million bucks and maybe ten years older. His date's a lucky lady. I'll meet her when we gather for pictures late afternoon. Plan B. We won't be at O'Donnell Park with the Calatrava as background because typhoon. Instead we'll grace the lobby of a dry downtown hotel before they get on a party bus and eventually arrive at the Harley Museum. I hope that he has a stellar night.

My prom was not very memorable. I wore a bubblegum pink dress...very conservative, which was the style in the 80s. It was a silky sheath with fluted cap sleeves and a satin sash around the waist. My hair was freshly permed thanks to Dean at Le Salon in the Pfister. Jack wore a tux almost exactly like the one Teddy will wear. How is it that more than two decades later not much has changed in traditional men's formal wear? There are a few pictures taken in the living room on Wood Place. The Hallorans came over for the occasion. It was awkward. Mrs. Halloran didn't leave the house except to go to church and I'm pretty sure Dr. Halloran left only for the office so they weren't at all social. I can't remember where we went to dinner or who with. Probably Liz and whomever she was dating at the time. I was on the fringe of so many groups because I was well-liked, but always with Jack. He didn't make friends easily. I'm fairly certain we fought that night. I know he was uncomfortable being a sophomore at a junior prom and there was no way he was dancing unless it was a slow song. It's unsettling how little I remember.

Maybe I'll be able to fill in the blanks when I read my journal from 1985. If I still have it. I've been excavating. Going through my old journals. There are two Rubbermaid bins packed full with them. I've been keeping a journal for as long as I can remember, and before that like every young girl, a diary. I think it was a way to work through my often raging and rampant emotions. Sometimes it worked...works. The only reason I can offer for why I still have decades old journals is that I'm afraid I'll forget. Yet, I've found that some things are better off forgotten. 

This week I randomly picked up two journals that took me back to the summer before my freshman year in college all the way through mid-junior year. There were lots of gaps. I don't write when I'm blissfully happy or downright dejected. When I'm on top of the world, I cannot be bothered and when I'm down and out, I cannot pick up a pen. It makes sense, but it also makes it hard to put the past together with so much missing. There's little about my explosive break-up with Jack (heart-broken), my first year with Eric (happy in love), or my breakdown (rock bottom).

This whole endeavor has me thinking about memory: the things we remember and why. The things that remain. Perspective too. It's also been a little emotional. I spent so much time in turmoil and pain during that period of my life. It opens wounds not fresh, but not healed either. There were so many things I would have done differently. So many. 

I've started excavating before and never gotten very far because it's complicated and messy and hard. I intend to get through the years of journals this time because for one, I'm trying to decide what to do with them. I'm contemplating throwing them away, or more like burning them. Before I do, if I do, I want to fill in as many blanks as possible because one of my biggest fears is the fear of forgetting. Yes, even those things that are uncomfortable to remember.