I’ve heard that human memory can be understood as a complex web, in which the threads are different elements of a memory, like sights, sounds, emotions, or feelings. This idea of distributed memory ensures that even if part of the brain is damaged, some parts of an experience may still remain.
My grandmother’s memory is disintegrating. She has dementia, and her mind is beginning to forget how to store information. When I speak with her on the phone, she asks the same question that I just answered five minutes prior. When her doctor explains her health problems, she can’t remember them.
As she ages, I am trying to hold on to my own memories of her. Some of these memories are vivid, with great detail. Other memories are more like bits and pieces of sights or feelings. I remember how excited she was to take me with her on a trip to Southern California. For two weeks we toured Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, and Universal Studios, convincing me that the state of California was a magical destination. I remember her polyester shirts, linen pants, and bedroom filled with the scent of Tiger Balm ointment. I remember spending nights in her cluttered, cold home. I remember when I was four, and used her bright red lipstick to color my aunt’s teddy bear. I remember her happily obliging when we begged her to make another batch of fried Chinese pretzels.
Maybe memory isn’t just something that exists in one mind, but is also a collective reality. A memory can be distributed among several people, so that even if one person’s mind can’t contain a memory, the experience will carry on in others’ minds. While my grandmother’s mind fades, she will live on in my own memory, and the memories of those who love her.
My grandmother’s memory is disintegrating. She has dementia, and her mind is beginning to forget how to store information. When I speak with her on the phone, she asks the same question that I just answered five minutes prior. When her doctor explains her health problems, she can’t remember them.
As she ages, I am trying to hold on to my own memories of her. Some of these memories are vivid, with great detail. Other memories are more like bits and pieces of sights or feelings. I remember how excited she was to take me with her on a trip to Southern California. For two weeks we toured Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, and Universal Studios, convincing me that the state of California was a magical destination. I remember her polyester shirts, linen pants, and bedroom filled with the scent of Tiger Balm ointment. I remember spending nights in her cluttered, cold home. I remember when I was four, and used her bright red lipstick to color my aunt’s teddy bear. I remember her happily obliging when we begged her to make another batch of fried Chinese pretzels.
Maybe memory isn’t just something that exists in one mind, but is also a collective reality. A memory can be distributed among several people, so that even if one person’s mind can’t contain a memory, the experience will carry on in others’ minds. While my grandmother’s mind fades, she will live on in my own memory, and the memories of those who love her.