I am standing in the shower. A mosaic of pea green tile under my feet. The sun of a hot, Florida day streaming in through the glass-blocked window beside me. Water streams down upon a body I have worked hard to win back after birthing my first child. In a matter of minutes I am flooded with memories I would rather forget. Guilt, shame, and loss swell my heart and the bucket tips over. Tears pour from me nearly as fast as the water from the showerhead. I push back at the memories. I want to grab them with both fists, punching and screaming Get Back. Go Away. I don’t want you here.
My breathing is quick and I gasp. I crumple on the tile floor, wilting under the pressure of these memories. My life is remarkably sweet these days. There are few cares and worries. I spend my days with a red-haired boy who brings enormous joy and laughter to the space all around him. That he was the grand surprise of my life is never forgotten. He has set the course of a timeline I am still amazed and excited to call my own.
But the memories remain. When they pinch me I am alone. I don’t know how to be alone. I don’t know how to inhabit the memories and let them run their course. I don’t know how to accept the life I’ve lived before the life I know now. I am ashamed of the person I was for so many years, of the heartbreak that I’ve put my family through. I don’t know how to accept that my father has died and will never know how I’ve recovered from being that girl I was in the moment of his unexpected death. I don’t know how to explain to my husband and my child what his loss means to me. I don’t know how to feel everything completely without melting into the memories and getting lost. Again.
On this day I figure it all out. The sound of the running water begins to calm me. The sun drifting between the drops spreads light through me at a time when I am caught in darkness.
I cannot wish it all away. I cannot fight back. If I do, I am wishing away a part of myself that would change the course of this timeline I’m so happy to have. If I fight back I am only going to get smaller.
And so I rise. I stand under the stream and I let the first memory that comes take hold of me. I wish I could write here about the thoughts that fill my mind on that day in the shower. But I cannot. Not yet. Because while I can now claim these memories as my own, I still shake under their pressure, and they are too much to acknowledge here in this place. So please forgive me the lack of details. Please know that I do long to trust you, as much as I’ve come to trust myself and the fact that I can live through this. The remembering. And I can.
I’ve always had an affinity for water, and I’m not sure if that’s it, or if it’s simply the fact that when I am showering I am alone and confined, but this is still the time when my memories come. Always. Every shower. They come. They grip. They toss me. But I no longer fight back. Because on that day–and it is very clear in my mind–I learned to become a part of those memories. To let them fill me up and then wash away again. But not to take control.
I have read but one piece on Memory so far. In three minutes, Heather wrote something that took me years to understand. My guess is that it’s taken her years as well. We are all of our pasts at once. All of the different people we have been–in one lifetime–have come together to make us what we are today. And in denying the memory of those painful moments, we deny the happiness we now seek and acknowledge in our own lives.
There is not one single day that goes by that I don’t think about my father. Not one day. I imagine one of my boys on his knee while he watches the Kentucky Derby. I imagine him tossing a baseball with my oldest son, preparing him for the season. I imagine him taking an interest in my husband’s new business and nodding respectfully at the man with whom I’ve chosen to spend my life and raise my babies. But most of all, I imagine him wrapping his arms around me and telling me that he is proud. And it hurts. Boy, does it hurt.
I cannot push it away anymore. Any of it. Under the heat of that shower on another sunny, Florida day it all fell into place. I figured out how to understand memory. The good and the bad of it. I cannot tinker with time. Take things back, wish them away, relive them. And I don’t want to anymore. I am a product of the lives I have lived before. So the memories will push and pull me, and I will let them, but I will not dwell. They will fill me up and then fall away again. And knowing this, accepting this, living this way, leaves my heart more room to focus on creating the best memories I can today, in the here and the now. Because this is the only time I have any control over. And I vow to myself that I will do the best job I can with that.
******************
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Letting the memories, our emotions, the anger, regret and the sorrow take over us is so hard. Even for those without real trauma in their lives (which would be me). But it has to be done, doesn’t it? To reach the other side. Forgiveness is hard especially when it is yourself that needs it. You never have to share the whole of your story with us, but I hope one day you can recall it for yourself without shaking.
.-= Cranky Sarah´s last blog ..Letting go =-.
Redemption =What we were or did does not have to be who we are. It’s one of those concepts I’ve found sticking to my thoughts like dandelion fluff these days and wanting it to take stubborn root in my mind. I’m so grateful for it.
.-= Anonymous Mommy´s last blog ..Memories Like Fool’s Gold =-.
What a beautiful maxim.
.-= Natalie´s last blog ..five for ten: happiness =-.
Oh, Sarah, this is perfect. And the perfect complement to Heather’s piece yesterday.
I am so grateful for your reflection on memory and the way in which it shapes our identity. Reading so many pieces on memory yesterday and today, I’ve vacillated between wanting to live in the past and wanting to forget it all. But you hit the nail on the head: “We are all of our pasts at once.” There is no denying; there is no embracing. There just is.
Thank you for sharing your watery realization with us, and for all that you and Jen are doing to make us think these ten days.
.-= Kristen @ Motherese´s last blog ..Memory is a Muscle =-.
So poignant! So real! So Sarah!
.-= Nicki´s last blog ..Happiness =-.
I came across this quote the other day and thought of it now, reading your post.
“Everyone underestimates their own life. Funny thing is, in the end, all our stories…they’re the same. In fact, no matter where you go in the world, there is only one important story: of youth, loss and yearning for redemption. So we tell the same story, over and over. Only the details are different.” – Rohinton Mistry (from his novel, Family Matters)
.-= Elizabeth (@claritychaos)´s last blog ..grace and connection =-.
Sarah. Dear friend. I’m crying with you right. I know this, I know it so well. It’s an ache so deep and yet so strong it just wells up inside of us, taking over and reaching, trying to find it’s way out. I’m on that journey with you, right beside you. It’s bloody hard. But know that we are here when you are ready. Just as I know you will be when I am ready.
.-= Christine LaRocque´s last blog ..Wisdom to hold on to =-.
Yes. You cannot push it away. But sometimes, people block out memories altogether, and I find it fascinating how the mind does that. But others, they linger. They surprise at unexpected times. Thank you for this well written post!
.-= Amy at Never-True Tales´s last blog ..‘Member Me =-.
What a stunning piece of honesty and emotion. Thank you for sharing that with us. I guess what you have achieved is “peace” with your memories. That is usually the hardest point to achieve in any difficult situation. Virtual hugs.
.-= Suzicate´s last blog ..Freaks, Geeks, And Squeaks =-.
Sarah, you have spoken well, you have found your voice—and in this space, in these five-for-ten days, you also conjure and coalesce the voice of a group, the vibe of a consciousness that pulses light and dark, a mystery that cannot be solved, but which can be love, and IN which we dwell, individually and at the same time all together.
You and Jen link with us all in what seems to be OUR mutual process of hurt, love and healing.
I have sat for a couple of decades now in all sorts of rooms and spaces hearing the very worst stories of hurt, and I have also seen how telling our stories heals us, connects us and ripples out to help others heal.
Perhaps today, for the group, it is not about the specific detail of your wounds, but about the universal water and sunlight cocktail from which we all emerge, and which soothes us all in our myriad tubs and showers the sun finding all of us in our individual places; and it is about the dark of night that passes over each and every one of us, sometimes piercing to our innermost selves, sometimes that pain is even the very animal come to bring us our power, our consciousness, bringing our surprising transformations.
Your courage is palpable, your wisdom is kind and powerful. You would not be who you are without your wounds, but we would not be who we are right now without your healing.
.-= Privilege of Parenting´s last blog ..That time when my dad was wrong =-.
I very much agree with this comment.
You have shared enough here for me to physical feel the process you have gone through: the pounding of your fists and falling to the floor physically trying to protect yourself from your memories. Then getting up and letting the memories begin. While intensely personal to you, you have (as the comment above reads) opened up a space for all who read this blog to feel a relationship based on mutual experience.
.-= Ali´s last blog ..My One: A Memory =-.
This was a hard one. I travelled part of that road with you, know some of the memories you rue, and also believe with you that you would never be where you are now had you not taken that particular, difficult, scary road. Your memories are part of who you are. To deny them is to deny your self. So acknowledge them with gentle understanding of where you were and where you are now. They do not dictate your worth, or potential, or ability to be a good person, a good wife and mother. And daughter.
Oh boo….too many thoughts about this one. We’ll talk about this more later, but for now, I love you to pieces!
How lucky to have a mother like you! How much you love your daughters. I love reading your comments.
You two are so very lucky to have each other.
I love your juxtaposition of these two brutal (and beautiful) truths:
“I am a product of the lives I have lived before.”
“…this is the only time I have any control over.”
I’m no authority on Buddhism, but I’m pretty sure that you’ve distilled the concept of karma. Beautifully. It’s a rich and complicated life you’ve lived and are living now… and those memories make it a lot richer.
.-= Launa´s last blog ..Poppies and Memory, Another View =-.
Launa – Can you open up Name/URL as a profile? It would be helpful. Merci!
I very much understand the desire to have a lost parent back. I do the same thing, imagining what my mom would think of my life now, wondering how she would interact with my boys. I am also guilty of fighting back against my memories, so much so that it’s like I’ve impacted my brain and there are things that I just can’t remember anymore. I’m glad that you figured out how to remember, and let it hurt, but not let it take you over. Thank you for sharing.
.-= Jenn M´s last blog ..to my mother. =-.
“I am a product of the lives I have lived before.” This is a crushing weight to carry, and yet in accepting it, the burden lifts. You’re right, we are all of our pasts at once. We are the magnificent amalgamation of a lifetime of joy and sorrow.
And how beautiful that your mother is here for the journey.
In the water we are created, so it makes sense that in the water we remember ourselves and our life the most. I understand this. Beyond being well written, your post touched my soul. Loss is something that is so universal but felt so differently by each individual.
“I am a product of the lives I have lived before.”
the truth. Man, that’s the truth…
Alita
Some of us carry the physical scars – or, in my case the physical injuries – as a constant reminder of painful memories. But yes, they are all part of who I am. I’m proud that I can now have the courage to write those memories on my blog and share them with the world.
.-= Tracy Todd´s last blog ..The Curse =-.
Your father knows the YOU you are now. I believe this with all of my heart and to the bottom of my soul, because I too have lost my father and he will never, in this life, know the amazing little boy he named for us when we faltered and floundered over what to name our #3 boy. “His name should be Christopher, it’s a strong name, and Chris is a good nick name for a boy.” Within 2 months of saying those lines, my father was gone.
But they know. I believe firmly they know, they see, they are here, enjoying with us, but not with us. He cannot talk to the YOU you are now, but he knows you.
.-= Samantha´s last blog ..This I Believe: Teaching is infinite. =-.
Hi Samantha. Enjoyed reading your “I believe” post. That teaching is infinite because of the ripple effects. (Tried to leave a comment, but you don’t have Name/URL available.) Wanted to say that it was an important post. So few people talk about the power of a truly fine teacher. “Force” in the classroom, indeed.
(*** sorry Sarah… digression ***)
.-= BigLittleWolf´s last blog ..Kitch Witch Fun (South Park Style) =-.
I, too, struggle with th person I was before and the decisions I made when I was just a “me” and not a “we.”
I took refuge in foto friday and a joke because for me, part of coming to terms with the happiness I feel is letting some of those uglier moments dwell only in my hopechest, where I keep all my mementos and things from my youth.
.-= Natalie´s last blog ..five for ten: happiness =-.
There is not one day that goes by that I don’t think of my mother. It’s hard. There have been times when I’ve woken up out of a fitful sleep with tears streaming down my face. Managing and controlling the flow of memories – I don’t know if that’s possible.
I have to believe that your father understood you. Just like you understand your children.
I have to believe your father sees you know. I’m no religious but I do believe in that.
I feel so sorry for you. My father died when I was only 19. The night he died my mother asked my sister and I to come into ‘their’ room. We all slept together. But before we went to sleep my mom asked each of us to say what we regretted or felt guilty about. We talked into the night. And never, not even for a day has that guilt crept back into my mind. I will forever be in awe of my Mom. She had the wisdom to know we all, each one of us, needed to come clean…and the sooner we came clean the less time the evil thoughts would linger and cling in our bereaving minds.
That day in the shower you came clean. It just took longer. The pain might stay a little longer. But soon it will disappear.
Sorry about all the typos…early Sat. morning…but the sentiment is there.
The emotion too much…”my sister and me” oops.
Hi there…. Ijust wanted to say that your Dad is looking down on you and smiling at what I’m sure is a beautiful family.
I hesitate to comment because I don’t want to increase your workload!!! But I love this post so much, I couldn’t not.
What strikes me is how sharp THIS memory is for you – the one of you in the shower, the one where you decided to let the memories in. It’s sharp because it’s important.
“We are all of our pasts at once.” – this stood out for me because while the past hurt, it makes me who I am today. I make my choices sometimes based on mistakes I’ve made or the things I’ve seen in others and so I head down a different path. And it has led me to someone I can look in the mirror every day and say, yes I am happy, and genuinely like the person staring back at me. All this just by learning from my past .
.-= Justine´s last blog ..18 months baby! =-.
This is raw and honest and giving. And so you, the you we’ve come to respect and honor and love. Here. In this safe place. The pieces of yourself you give us, so freely.
We are indeed our pasts in their entirety, with the choice to acknowledge that, and integrate all of it into an appreciation for how far we’ve come. From those rough times comes our own grace.
And grace is something in abundance in you, my friend, Sarah.
***
Don’t know why ‘last blog post’ not working for me. (But all is “clean and shiny” at my place now.)
Beautiful BLW. You touch me to the core. Grace indeed. she has it in spades.
One of the hardest things to do in life is to relive our mistakes, accept them for what they are and who they made us into. Forgiving ourselves for our past lives is probably the most difficult and most important thing to do.
I’m so glad that you have come to terms with everything.
.-= Allison @ Alli ‘n Son´s last blog ..Memory…or Loss Of =-.
Sarah, such a powerful post! My father also died at the exact moment when I was most ashamed of myself. For years I imagined him suddenly becoming a spirit/angel and being able to see what I really was and how much he would have hated me. I finally realized that just as I wasn’t all I would ever be at that age, he wasn’t all he would ever be in that moment either – I like to think the soul of him is bigger than the judgements too. Does that make sense?
And water? In Judaism there’s a ritual bath called a Mikveh that cleanses your soul and refreshes the spirit. The Orthodox use it monthly but Conservative and Reform Jews have begun to use mikvehs for renewal and a type of spiritual cleansing. Interesting.
.-= Linda at Bar Mitzvahzilla´s last blog ..Happy Anyway =-.
Memories–the past in general, really–are so hard to look at closely, aren’t they? Because you can’t let them have more weight than the now, can’t let them define who you are now or who you will become, but you do have to be able to look straight at them, to integrate your understanding of them, or else they end up using up energy and mental space that we need for other things. For the now. It can be like threading needle, sometimes, the figuring out how to give memories respect but not authority over our current selves.
.-= Melissa´s last blog ..privileged =-.
You are such a great writer! I think your dad looks down upon you and sees all that you have become. I am not an overly religious person AT. ALL. But I do believe those we love are there.
.-= For the Love of Naps´s last blog ..Friday Thoughts =-.
I knew you’d stun us all with this piece. Exhaustion and all!
I never thought to think of my memories that I regret as just “part of me”. So many things I’d do differently if I was given the chance, but since I will never be given that chance, I might as well accept them. And therefore, accept me.
I truly believe the windy roads you traveled in your past helped you in becoming the amazing person you are today. I’d want you no other way!
Thank you for this. Xo
Amazing and beautiful post. And so right! We are where we are and who we are because of our past. I’m glad you’ve found a way to accept the memories without letting them overwhelm or control you. Hugs!
.-= Cindy´s last blog ..Green Onion Longing =-.
“We are all of our pasts at once. All of the different people we have been–in one lifetime–have come together to make us what we are today. ”
This is so true. Through much of my life I purposely chose a difficult path. There were a lot of low times, tragic times, rich times. But the sum equals me today and I believe has made me a better more compassionate human being.
I think when it comes to parent/child relationships that our parents see through all the muck. They know us. They know us differently then anyone else does. They know what we are capable of. They know our strengths and weakness. Most importantly they love us and remember all the best parts of us.
It is far easier for me to think of my children’s good qualities then their negative ones.
I’m sorry your Dad didn’t get to physically see the amazing person you became but I’m sure in his minds-eye he saw it in you and knew you’d get there in your own time.
.-= Jane Swinglehurst´s last blog ..Bedtime Stories =-.
That’s it, Jane. Precisely. In his mind’s eye he always, always knew she would be OK. Even when we were so scared, thought she might die, wondered how on earth she could come back, he still had faith. It was love, but it was also the fact that he knew her so well. When push came to shove, he trusted that she would prevail, come back, find a path for herself. Oh, you have touched a chord for me! Thanks for the mommy who watched it all. and miss the daddy still.
This is great in so many ways, but I particularly like the lesson about not dwelling, about letting your memories fill you up and then wash away again. This takes a lot of work, and time. Congratulations, and big warm hugs.
.-= macondo mama´s last blog ..Dear Monster: Your birth story =-.
There will always be things we regret in life, times that we look back on and wish we could do over, but we cannot and so must leave what is done as done and look forward. Great post.
.-= Aging Mommy´s last blog ..Recollections Of A Mini-Adventure =-.
This is lovely, and real, and honest.
I could not agree more, that we are the sum of all the people we have ever been, of the good and bad and mediocre that all adds up to us.
.-= Lindsey´s last blog ..A Memory Framed in Magnolias =-.
I want to reach through the screen and give you a gigantic “I understand” hug.
(wiping some “knowing” tears… sending some love to you)
.-= Corinne´s last blog ..{Five for Ten} Courage =-.
This is so touching. I too lost my father too early. And I wish everyday that he could see what has become of me. But as other commenters have said, I choose to believe he knew where I was going, what I was capable of. I’m sure the same was true of you.
I spend time wishing I had done some things differently when it comes to my dad, but remind myself that I could not have know. Even in knowing he was sick I didn’t know how abruptly it would end. You did what you could and it has all brought you to where you are now.
I was touched by how raw and honest this piece is.
.-= Rachel @ MWF Seeking BFF´s last blog ..I’ve Bin Thinking About Your Ignerince =-.
What a heartfelt post. Beautiful.
.-= Tiffany´s last blog ..Cut Short =-.
Amazing how memories flood us at the most random of moments. Smells, sensations, food, etc. And they come whether we want them to or not. And I so appreciate how you can both appreciate and love the life you have now, even in the midst of some regret. I wish regret and memory didn’t go hand in hand, but of course sometimes they do. Thanks for the honesty of this post.
.-= Anne´s last blog ..Selective, Protective Memory =-.
Hi Sarah, boy, this one called up a lot of emotions for me. Reading your words reminded me of the day my father died. It was a long time ago, but not so long ago that it’s hard to remember. Never too hard to remember. Some memories aren’t meant to die at all. These memories, the stubborn ones that years can’t erase, for me, become tied to wishes that can’t ever happen. And that, for me, is where I linger between denial and acceptance.
Thanks for this beautiful, heartfelt post.
“And in denying the memory of those painful moments, we deny the happiness we now seek and acknowledge in our own lives.”
Although I do not hold memories anywhere close to yours, I do, as most people, have many that are painful, that I do try to push away…it never occurred to me that to deny them is to deny who I’ve become now, in part because of them. Thank you.
.-= Liz´s last blog ..Afraid of the memories that are to be =-.
The thing that brings me comfort is knowing that the person you miss–your dad, for example–is IN you. So those moments you wish he could have had? He still has them, a little, though the tiny bits he instilled in you. He knows. Even if he’s not still here, he knows.
.-= Diana´s last blog ..Making Memory Serve =-.
Oh, Sarah. This is gorgeous. Brave. True. Cryptic and comprehensive all at once. You and I have so so much to talk about. Here, in this world. Elsewhere. There is a good bit of common ground to excavate side by side.
My favorite sentence in this masterpiece on memory?
“I cannot tinker with time.”
Exactly. Exactly.
Sometimes the hardest part of loving who you are is loving everything that came before the you that is now.
And the realization of that is extremely hard, because we tend to not be too forgiving of ourselves.
We all screw up, Sarah, some of us bigger than others, but it is part of humanity.
When we accept ourselves, all of us, we begin to show grace, love to ourselves. We are kinder to ourselves, and to others.
Sarah, your dad is still with you. He lives on in you, your sister and mother. He lives on in those boys who have your heart. And he always saw the beauty of your core, regardless of the wrapping.
Sending you cyber hugs!
.-= Maria´s last blog ..When hitting rewind isn’t a good thing… =-.
When I’m there, like your shower moments, the pit of my stomach banging me around with pain, I often think, “I’m THIS and not THAT.” It sounds so simple and it is. At the same time I’m always both THIS and THAT because the girl from before shaped me and will therefore always be a part of me. But exactly as you said, so beautifully, she is not controlling me now. If I let her crumple me up then she is, but it doesn’t have to be that way. It can strangely be empowering to have been her, and I’m just astounded by that.
And friend, your Dad? My heart aches for you, that you can’t have him see you now. And at the same time, as I read I thought, “he knew…he knew she is and always has been this and not that.” He knew your heart, so he knew you and he was proud. I believe that.
Love you.
.-= Heather of the EO´s last blog ..The girl who lived on the lake =-.
I think my struggle with accepting painful memories is often accepting the person I was when the pain occurred. And accepting the person I am now.
.-= Heather Caliri´s last blog ..grateful =-.
It’s so hard to lose a loved one. I still think of my grandmother often as we were very close friends. I find comfort in remembering the sweet times we had and savoring the fun memories. I find comfort in the new relationships I have now with my daughter whom she never met. I find hope in remembering the relationship we had and looking ahead to the relationship I might have with my children and grandchildren. But of course, I still miss her and there is a place in my heart reserved just for her.
I’m sure it took a lot of courage to write your post. I hope you find comfort in your memories and in your family.
.-= Melodramommy´s last blog ..Mommy Hallucinations: The Detached Arm =-.
I’d like to believe that your father knows and is pleased with who you have become.
The symbolism in the water is powerful. As is thinking about you rising and facing those memories.
.-= Amber´s last blog ..A Simple Walk =-.
I lost my father last year and I get that, about missing your father everyday. I miss mine everyday too. Such a honest and raw post and it hit me right in my heart. Thank You.
.-= Rudri´s last blog ..Skipping Stones =-.
I just discovered your blog through The Happiness Project newsletter. Your writing is so beautiful. Thank you so very much for sharing your joys and sorrows.
.-= Meredith´s last blog .."a Scottish lament written by a Jewish guy from the Bronx." =-.
It is 6:42 on this Sunday morning. Two of my boys sit watching Ni-Hao Kailan. The other two–father & firstborn–lay asleep in their beds. And I sit here, perched on the edge of my faux leather office chair, the beginnings of a beautiful spring day bouncing light through the window of our cluttered lives. I sit here and I read comment after comment and my heart fills up up up. But when the bucket tips over, it’s smiles that pour out. Not tears.
I had not written my Memory post as of 9:35 am yesterday morning. I had 30 minutes to get it out and do it well. I wasn’t sure that I could do it and started trembling under the pressure when I began. But with determination, and inspiration, anything is possible. And there is an unbelievable amount of inspiration right now. You all have risen to this community challenge. And I am in awe.
Now it is 6:55. I have already left my chair over a dozen times since beginning this comment to all of you. My kids need and want my attention, but my heart is pulled time and time again back to you. What I really came here to say is Thank You. Memory was difficult for me and you received it, as always, with grace and openness.
I vow to lighten things up with my Lust post. Awwww, yeah. Get ready, I might just try and make it the tiniest bit “hot.” That is, if I can remember where the heck I put that “hot, lusty” part of me anyway.
In time I hope to respond to each and every one of your comments individually. But for now, this bulk reply will have to do. Please know how grateful I am that you are here, reading, participating. It means the world to me on this Sunday morning at 6:59 am. Now pardon me, while I get busy reading…I have a bit of catching up to do and cannot wait to get started!!! (Someone just tell my kids to cooperate, okay? They are starting off the day incredibly NEEDY!)
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