But still, the memories aren't gone.
Maybe memories, like emotions, cannot be recorded in such a way as to be perfectly preserved out of time forever. Maybe they exist only when present in the brain, and not before or after. Maybe all that is left is a feeling of the memory being there (like how you can remember when and where you were during certain events but not what happened; it’s possible you don’t remember because it never happened).
Memories may just be energy pulsing through your brain. Energy that was and was not ever re-created again (not exactly at least) until now in this moment, upon which I ask myself questions about this one tiny fraction of my life.
I remember being happy when I was a child. I remember feeling love from my father. I remember being scared when I was a child, too -- scared of the dark, and of monsters under the bed. Scared of the future and what it held for me. Scared that I would never be able to control my own life -- always at the mercy of fate or luck or God or whatever you might call it.
I remember feeling loved by my mother, too. And supported by her in my need to make choices that were right for me even if they weren’t what she wanted for me.
And I remember being disappointed by her sometimes, too. For example, when she told me it was wrong for me to change my mind about wanting to be a doctor or an astronaut.
Or for choosing the women I choose, or making decisions I make. Or not wanting many of the things that she wanted for me -- like sports and school and achievement and going into politics like my grandfather did (he’s a senator now). I remember feeling sad and angry when she said these things because they were so far away from what I had always thought of myself as being -- independent and self-sufficient in every way possible.
I remember feeling scared when I was a child, too -- scared of the future and what it held for me. Scared that I would never be able to control my own life -- always at the mercy of fate or luck or God or whatever you might call it.
I remember being angry when people did things that took away other people’s choices and opportunities (in the way they acted toward me or others) because they were afraid to feel out of control themselves if they allowed another person their free will and choices.
But I am enough. Sometimes, this is all I remember. And it is enough.