As is my morning routine, I call Amma as I walk. She mentions it has been twenty five years since her mom passed away and it hits me with force that I have not thought about my grandma in years now. I sheepishly add a reminder on my calendar — a way for me to mark the day in my own way. As I do that, I realize that my dad’s death anniversary is this week too. I wonder if I would have woken up on the day with a knowing that is seared into my bones?
I add another reminder on my phone, this time for my dad. It is bittersweet, this passage of time and the relentless erasure of memories and grief.
It was once a throbbing pain, soothed only by endless reflection. Now, it is an old, fading scar only visible when I look for it knowing where to search. Cliches exist for a reason. Time does dull things. The brain is only capable of storing so much. With each passing year, new people, places, events keep piling, pushing old, fading, sepia memories out.
I haven’t seen my dad in my dreams. When I close my eyes, I see montages of years past but the clarity is gone. What once was razor sharp and in 4K is now black and white film, with scratches and static audio.
I am feeling mellow today knowing that even when the person means the world to you, they last a couple of decades at best in memories. It frees me up to be who I am without worrying about legacies or memories. Everything I have done all these years feels moot. The now is all there is really.
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