I Remember You

I ran into an old college “mate” for the second time. The first encounter did not manifest instant recognition but after speaking with her mutual friends, it was clear she and I were old sorority sisters back in the day. And, at this reprieve meeting, I felt empowered to share. I saw this as a fated opportunity to reconnect. So, I took a leap…

”Didn’t you go to Cal?”

“Yes”

“Weren’t you a DG?”

“Yes”

“So was I. I remember you”

No response, nothing, nada from her.

So I proceeded to further identify myself. She hesitated, nodded, and simply offered up, “Oh yes, I thought you looked familiar”.  

Well…I recognize a blatantly token bon mot when I hear it. She really was saying “I vaguely remember you (if at all)” or “What the hell happened to you?!” But I soldiered on and I proceeded to catch up, asking about former friends that I knew she would recall, talking about our alma mater, asking about her current life. She never asked about mine. Oh well. I knew I was either now too old to find a glimpse of recognition or I was nothing more than a cloudy memory. Very cloudy.

Note: Given the awkwardness and clearly lack of a warm connection, I chose not to share my vivid memory of her and her college Trans Am driving, football playing boyfriend. For some reason, it is seared in my memory that he would drive up to the sorority, with engines revving, and a very specific song, “It’s Too Late To Turn Back Now” blaring from the radio. She told all of us it was “their” song. and this just impacted at the time as they were the first couple I ever met that had a “song”. But I kept this recollection to myself. It would have been too weird to share. I did not want her to know that, 40 plus years later, this unrecognizable woman standing in front of her would strangely never forget such an obtuse memory.  

Yes, memories are strange things. Like the recollection I just shared, they can be silly, random glimpses that remain in your head. But some are wonderfully sentimental or powerfully moving.  A memory can be treasured as a lasting grasp of a lost love, of a glory day, of the tenacity and wonder of love. When I was young, memories were rather inconsequential. Life offered too many possibilities, too much potential for dreaming and creating. Youth only looks forward. There is little patience for what just happened. And, let’s face it, memories accumulate with time.  As I have grown older and, yes, lived a varied assortment of worlds within the framework of one main life, memories have become deeply powerful. It is a continual challenge not to mired in remembering; not to be “stuck” in the past. As I forge to make sense of all that has happened, the challenge is to live in the moment and be grateful for what is.

Or so the platitudes tell me.

But I now feel compelled to capture the significance of it all.  This post is a homage to, yes, the power of memories. Damn the patronizing torpedos, full throttle back to the past!!!

Serendipitously, I just heard a wonderful song that clearly cemented my determination to wallow in nostalgia: “I REMEMBER YOU”, written in the 1940’s by composer Johnny Mercer, since sung by many of the best crooners. But it was the Frank Ifield version that, upon recently hearing, impacts the most. Its unique arrangement creates a backdrop for floating shamelessly and wistfully through the past and acknowledging its magic and power.

I remember you…the childhood friends who created the backdrop of growing up as an urban kid. A sea of young faces with freckles and pony tails abounding. My gang. We did not care that we walked amongst concrete sidewalks and barbed wire playgrounds. We freely played with each other in a 1960s world of cartoons, console television sets, and transistor radios.  Behind the seemingly Ozzie and Harriet facades, there were challenges and pain. But it was never openly discussed. Life was a series of white gloved, crinoline petticoat-ed, and Sunday-hat events. Life was never questioned. It simply was. And in that naively innocent existence, we were happy—or at least never daring to admit that, behind closed doors, there existed shadows.

I remember you…the college mates who were full of confidence, intelligence, and vigor. We were all beautiful and all certain that we would make a difference; fulfill our dreams. Everything was and would be possible. Even amidst the turmoil of the politics and war, there was promise. Promise that things would be better with a more enlightened generation. Promise of personal self-fulfillment. Promise of returning to Paris and Florence for, through the beauty of history and art, the world was now enchanting.

I remember you…the young man who resembled John Kerr (think SOUTH PACIFIC, the movie) who offered a dream of a perfect family and revealed the surprising comfort and security of love. The path seemed steady and according to plan. I remember the beautiful babies and submerging myself in the role of their Mother. Family is a heart-filling, joyous experience.  With the responsibility and the resolve, came the home, the community, the friends. Such sweet memories. Life was wonderful.

I remember you… the devastation of the divorce—what led up to it and what ultimately resulted from it. To close friends, I sometimes share the challenges, the pain, the loneliness.  But now, I mostly skirt over the details. It is a private past. Perhaps it is because 20 plus years have passed and I have had to move on. Mostly because I have two daughters whom I protect. That is the thing about memories. So much you cannot forget. So many that still bear repercussions in your life—even decades later. So much that you regret. But they are there. And you become very select as to the significance and power you give.

I remember you…the last 25 years by myself. Clearly, in this blog, I have shared the highlights, the missteps, the glory, and the defeats. No need to reiterate in this post. But I invite you to read my past blogs to not only bear witness but in hopes that some struggle, some joy will resonate. I have actually been told that my stories have inspired/impacted. I am grateful and humbly surprised. As well, there has been very little representation from women of a certain age so I write and offer the honest perspective and experience of someone whose life is rich with years and memories. It is a different “place” to be. Trust me, I know. Life does not wrap itself neatly as a ribboned, inviting gift. It is more like a terrorist package surprisingly received in the mail. It explodes!!!

And then, life comes to a point when the memories of decades surge together and preside over the being of today. Finally, you see it all and can figure out how you got here, why it turned out the way it did (accepting, admitting every single glory and mistake). And, finally, you can smile as you say to yourself, “I remember you!”

“And when my life is through and the angels ask me to recall the thrill of it all. I will tell them I remember you.”

This Johnny Mercer song is really about a love. I have been lucky to have loved on many levels. I have loved family, friends, cities, songs, paintings. I have loved a special dog. The list goes on. We each have our own list. One thing we do have in common…each love is special. Each love changes you. Each love fills you up and brings forth a piece of your soul that perhaps you never knew existed. And, as I have learned, each love leaves. To love, you must vulnerably surrender in the acceptance, grief, and sweet remembrances.

Ultimately, each love makes your dreams come true. And realized dreams are revelations of our truest soul, previously unexplored, unimagined. It is the surprise of loving that most impacts and remains. It is our journey in life to unlock our heartfelt secrets.  

And, with time, they become sweet memories. It is right to recall and remember. Memories are your life, your legacy. Your self.   That is the ultimate love story.