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I believe that memory is never lost, even when it seems to be, because it has more to do with the heart than the mind.
At the same time my 44-year-old husband, Ed, was losing his life, my mother was losing her ability to remember. As Ed’s lungs filled with cancer, Mom’s brain was becoming tangled in 2)plaque. She forgot how to start the car, whether or not she had eaten and which family members had died—including my father.
I became afraid that one day I, too, would be unable to recall my husband, not because of
3)Alzheimer’s, but simply because my memory of him might fade. So from the day of Ed’s diagnosis until his death a year later, I set out to memorize him: his 4)crooked smile and vigorous embrace, his 5)woodsy smell and the way he cleared his throat when he reached the top of the stairs. I knew I’d always be able to recite his qualities—kind, gentle, smart, funny—but I wanted to be able to 6)conjure up the physical man in my mind, as fully as possible, when he was gone.
Back then, I thought memory was a deliberate, cognitive process, like remembering multiplication tables or lyrics or where the keys were. Unable to rescue Ed from cancer, I was determined to save him from the only thing worse than dying: being forgotten.
Later I learned that memory has a will of its own. You can’t control it any more than you can influence the weather. When it 7)springs up, a person loved and lost is found, if only for a few seconds.
Recently when I was driving, I had a deep and sudden sense of Ed and the way it felt to have him next to me in the car. My body softened as it used to when we were together seven years ago, living a shared life. I wasn’t remembering his face or the way he walked; the careful details I had stored had nothing to do with this moment in the car. Looking in the 8)rearview mirror, I recognized in my own face the same look I once saw on my mother’s face in the nursing home. I had asked her a question about my father, and she became confused about his identity. Yet, as she sat there, dressed in a shapeless 9)polyester outfit, she briefly appeared young and radiant, her face filled with love and her eyes became misty. Her brain couldn’t label the man correctly, but that was not important. It was clear to me that her husband was vivid in her heart, a memory even Alzheimer’s could not crush.
I believe there is a difference between memory and remembering. Remembering has to do with turning the oven off before leaving the house, but memory is nurtured by emotion. It springs from a deeper well, safe from 10)dementia and the passage of time.
我相信，记忆是永不会丧失的，即便是随着时间的流逝，它看似在丧失——因为记忆更多是留在心里，而不是脑海中。
那时候，我44岁的丈夫埃德一步步向死神靠近，同时，我母亲也在一点点地丧失记忆。埃德得了肺癌，而母亲的大脑则因肿瘤而变得记忆混乱。她忘记了怎样开车，不记得自己是否吃过饭，也忘了哪些家庭成员已不在人世——包括我的父亲。
我开始害怕有一天，自己也会无法回忆起丈夫，不是因为患了早老性痴呆病，而仅仅是因为我对他的记忆可能会渐渐消退。因此，从埃德确诊的那一天开始到一年后他离去的这段时间里，我开始尽力去记住他的一切：他那坏坏的笑，那有力的拥抱，他身上那种木香，以及他爬上楼梯顶端之后清喉咙的样子。我知道我会一直记得他的一切品质——和善、温柔、聪明、风趣——但是我想在他离开之后，自己能够尽可能全面地将他完整而生动地呈现在脑海中。
那时，我认为记忆是一个需要细心思量的认知过程，就像记住乘法口诀表、歌词，或者钥匙放在什么地方那样。我无法将埃德从癌症的魔掌中拯救出来，但我决心牢牢记住他——被遗忘是唯一比死亡更糟糕的事。
后来，我认识到记忆本身是有自主意愿的。你无法控制它，就像你无法影响天气一样。记忆一旦涌现，已失去的挚爱之人就会出现在你面前，即便只有几秒钟。
最近，我在开车的时候，突然有种很强烈的感觉，觉得埃德好像就坐在我身边。我的身体很放松，这跟7年前我们共同生活时的感觉一模一样。在那一刻，我并没有想起他的脸或者他走路的样子，我记得的所有充满挂念的细节都跟此刻车里发生的情景无关。透过车里的后视镜，我看到自己的表情和在疗养院里看到过的母亲脸上那表情是一样的。当时，我问了她关于父亲的一个问题，她一脸迷惑，弄不清他是家中何人。然而，她坐在那里，穿着松垮的涤纶外套，有一瞬间她看起来年轻而富有光彩，脸上充满了爱意，眼神变得朦胧而伤感。她的脑子无法辨认这个男人，但这并不重要。我清楚地知道，她丈夫活在她心中，这是一种即使是老年痴呆症也无法摧毁的记忆。
我相信，“记忆”和“记得”两者之间是有区别的。“记得”是离家之前记得关掉烤箱，但“记忆”则是因感情而催生。它来自于更深处，而且不会因老年痴呆症或者时间的流逝而消退。
At the same time my 44-year-old husband, Ed, was losing his life, my mother was losing her ability to remember. As Ed’s lungs filled with cancer, Mom’s brain was becoming tangled in 2)plaque. She forgot how to start the car, whether or not she had eaten and which family members had died—including my father.
I became afraid that one day I, too, would be unable to recall my husband, not because of
3)Alzheimer’s, but simply because my memory of him might fade. So from the day of Ed’s diagnosis until his death a year later, I set out to memorize him: his 4)crooked smile and vigorous embrace, his 5)woodsy smell and the way he cleared his throat when he reached the top of the stairs. I knew I’d always be able to recite his qualities—kind, gentle, smart, funny—but I wanted to be able to 6)conjure up the physical man in my mind, as fully as possible, when he was gone.
Back then, I thought memory was a deliberate, cognitive process, like remembering multiplication tables or lyrics or where the keys were. Unable to rescue Ed from cancer, I was determined to save him from the only thing worse than dying: being forgotten.
Later I learned that memory has a will of its own. You can’t control it any more than you can influence the weather. When it 7)springs up, a person loved and lost is found, if only for a few seconds.
Recently when I was driving, I had a deep and sudden sense of Ed and the way it felt to have him next to me in the car. My body softened as it used to when we were together seven years ago, living a shared life. I wasn’t remembering his face or the way he walked; the careful details I had stored had nothing to do with this moment in the car. Looking in the 8)rearview mirror, I recognized in my own face the same look I once saw on my mother’s face in the nursing home. I had asked her a question about my father, and she became confused about his identity. Yet, as she sat there, dressed in a shapeless 9)polyester outfit, she briefly appeared young and radiant, her face filled with love and her eyes became misty. Her brain couldn’t label the man correctly, but that was not important. It was clear to me that her husband was vivid in her heart, a memory even Alzheimer’s could not crush.
I believe there is a difference between memory and remembering. Remembering has to do with turning the oven off before leaving the house, but memory is nurtured by emotion. It springs from a deeper well, safe from 10)dementia and the passage of time.
我相信，记忆是永不会丧失的，即便是随着时间的流逝，它看似在丧失——因为记忆更多是留在心里，而不是脑海中。
那时候，我44岁的丈夫埃德一步步向死神靠近，同时，我母亲也在一点点地丧失记忆。埃德得了肺癌，而母亲的大脑则因肿瘤而变得记忆混乱。她忘记了怎样开车，不记得自己是否吃过饭，也忘了哪些家庭成员已不在人世——包括我的父亲。
我开始害怕有一天，自己也会无法回忆起丈夫，不是因为患了早老性痴呆病，而仅仅是因为我对他的记忆可能会渐渐消退。因此，从埃德确诊的那一天开始到一年后他离去的这段时间里，我开始尽力去记住他的一切：他那坏坏的笑，那有力的拥抱，他身上那种木香，以及他爬上楼梯顶端之后清喉咙的样子。我知道我会一直记得他的一切品质——和善、温柔、聪明、风趣——但是我想在他离开之后，自己能够尽可能全面地将他完整而生动地呈现在脑海中。
那时，我认为记忆是一个需要细心思量的认知过程，就像记住乘法口诀表、歌词，或者钥匙放在什么地方那样。我无法将埃德从癌症的魔掌中拯救出来，但我决心牢牢记住他——被遗忘是唯一比死亡更糟糕的事。
后来，我认识到记忆本身是有自主意愿的。你无法控制它，就像你无法影响天气一样。记忆一旦涌现，已失去的挚爱之人就会出现在你面前，即便只有几秒钟。
最近，我在开车的时候，突然有种很强烈的感觉，觉得埃德好像就坐在我身边。我的身体很放松，这跟7年前我们共同生活时的感觉一模一样。在那一刻，我并没有想起他的脸或者他走路的样子，我记得的所有充满挂念的细节都跟此刻车里发生的情景无关。透过车里的后视镜，我看到自己的表情和在疗养院里看到过的母亲脸上那表情是一样的。当时，我问了她关于父亲的一个问题，她一脸迷惑，弄不清他是家中何人。然而，她坐在那里，穿着松垮的涤纶外套，有一瞬间她看起来年轻而富有光彩，脸上充满了爱意，眼神变得朦胧而伤感。她的脑子无法辨认这个男人，但这并不重要。我清楚地知道，她丈夫活在她心中，这是一种即使是老年痴呆症也无法摧毁的记忆。
我相信，“记忆”和“记得”两者之间是有区别的。“记得”是离家之前记得关掉烤箱，但“记忆”则是因感情而催生。它来自于更深处，而且不会因老年痴呆症或者时间的流逝而消退。