mercy

i love learning about the connection between our memories and our bodies and our hearts (i mean the mysterious emotional heart, not the physical one.) just the other day, my dear c told me how she simply cannot remember events during a very painful period of her life. and there's the story of the cambodian women who lost their sight because of the emotional trauma of the khmer rouge. as one woman explained, "when I am happy I see better."

right after my mom died, i felt like i couldn't remember her before she was sick, almost like the past had been engulfed in a heavy fog. i wanted to remember the smallest details, the most mundane motherliness, but couldn't.

as an unexpected gift, the fog over my memory seems to be cracking and glimpses surface almost every day.

like how she called the weepies the weeblies, not to be funny but because she really thought that was the band name.

like how she power-walked from the best western hotel to the shakespeare festival, on those golden summer nights when the future still kept itself hidden.

like how she lingered, laughing, in magenta linen, when we ate salmon and uncle ben's wild rice in the backyard.

like how she seemed to be moving doing reading calling cooking all the time, except when she was with us, and then there were fewer places to be.

and how she didn't smell like the pines and dirt i smelled on my bike ride today, but still, it reminded me of her.

it is so much better to have the people we love with us, before our faces and in our arms. that is mercy.

but if and when we must be apart, it is mercy too to briefly forget, and then for the rest of time, be allowed to remember.