by James Wallace Harris, 3/4/24
My cousins and I on my mother’s side of the family occasionally exchange emails. There were sixteen of us first cousins, from five sisters. There are only nine of us left, and all the sisters have passed on. Recently, we’ve been talking about our memories of my grandmother’s house. The house was out in the country, near the little town of Enid, Mississippi.
I only have one memory of that house. I think it was from 1968, but I’m not sure. I believe my mother, along with one or two of my aunts, I’m thinking it was Aunt Let, but maybe Aunt Sissy was with us too, and maybe even a couple of my cousins, all went to see the house. By then it was abandoned and run down.
I stole the title of this essay from a meme I saw on Facebook. I wish I knew before I visited the house what I’ve learned from my cousins’ memories in their emails. I wish I had been shown the photos of the house before that visit. I would have asked all the questions I had to my mother, her sisters, and my cousins. Some of my cousins were even born in the Enid house.
Why are memories more emotionally intense now in old age, than the original experience that created them? I wish I could save all my memories perfectly. I wish I could copy my cousins’ memories into my memory bank.
I recently reread Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut. His protagonist, Billy Pilgrim, became unstuck in time, so he randomly popped in and out of all the moments of his life. I wish I could do that. Billy was also abducted by aliens from Tralfamadore. They didn’t experience time like we do. They didn’t experience moments one after another, but all at once. I wish I could do that sometimes, to be shown the big picture. It might have helped me always understand the small moments better.
Lastly, I’m reminded of the film Blade Runner, and the “Tears in the Rain” speech given by Roy Batty just as he’s dying.
I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe… Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion… I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain… Time to die.
When I and all my cousins die, all our memories will be lost. Susan and I don’t have children to pass on our memories. And I’m not even sure my cousins’ children can tune into what my cousins felt about their lives. My father died when I was eighteen, and I never talked to him much about his past. My mother lived to be ninety-one, and I did talk to her, and she told me a lot, but I never felt it the way I feel my own memories.
In the decades since my parents died, I’ve tried to imagine their lives from the clues they’ve left. Too bad we weren’t a race of telepaths because I don’t believe words are ever enough.
I believe this photo is the last time all sixteen cousins were together. I wish I remember that day better too. (I’m on the far left.)
JWH
Auxiliary Memory 
Thank you for sharing . As I was reading your post I kept thinking about my paternal grandfather. On his elder daughter’s request he wrote his memoirs. He lived from 1893 to 1980. I am glad he wrote them otherwise his days would have been lost forever, My father translated his two note books to English and gave xerox copies to our near relatives. My younger brother is planning to get the book published. My husband grew up in a large joint family in a village. I tell him he should write about those days. It was a different world. Regards, Lakshmi
Once again you have touched on an experience I am going through. Lately it seems random movie flashes of memory float through my memory at odd times, or keep me awake for hours at night. I have been writing some of them down. Although I also do not have any children to pass them to, the act of writing them helps clarify the emotions that go with them. Best Wishes to you and Susan!
I also don’t have children, but as I get older I think more of memories from the past. I so wished I had asked more questions. So many things I’ll never know…I wonder if they’re all still in our brain somewhere, but too deep to ever be resurrected. I find it sad.
I’ve often wondered if everything does stay in the brain and we just have a decaying imperfect way of fetching memories.