Artists of the missing

We talked of Alzheimers one day- the wasting away of memory & how frightening it would be to know that you are slowly losing track of people & life experiences one by one. It is a very frightening disease for both the individual and their families. Half the reason I write is to document and ferociously hold onto a place, a person, or an experience. I revisit certain areas of my life through writing- I write about the same person or experience often multiple times. Retrospection often colors the narrative but I do not believe this is always a bad thing. I have written about Bumpa's truck three times in the last three months. I experience loss slowly. Bumpa passed away over seven years ago. It is this week that I am jotting things about him in my notebook. When I cannot make sense of something, I write about it through fiction or narrative. I realized this summer that I have written over a thousand pages of free-writing.

I am protective of my memories. I am rigid about keeping them in their place. I tried to explain to Ben and Megan V. this fear of overlapping certain olfactory memories. I still have the perfume I borrowed from Sarah for my spring dance my freshman year of highschool. One whiff of this scent and I am sent spiraling into the "first dance experience". I have tummy butterflies and am listening to Led Zepplin in Michelle's bathroom as we curl our hair. This perfume became my first date perfume- I have worn it on all my first dates since then and it incites that nervousness over and over. And although I have been on many first dates with Freesia, it still brings me back to Michelle's bathroom each time I apply. I have a Northwestern scent that transforms my senses into being Candace's neighbor again and preparing for a co-op party with Emily and her friends or meeting Ben in the basement of Panera. "I need a new scent pronto," I told Ben on the phone. I cannot overlap these powerful scents with the new experiences I am having now. I am rigid. I need my olfactory memory to stay as it is.

We are studying the end stage of life in one of my occupational therapy classes. Dementia, unfortunatly, often is associated with the elderly. Naomi Feil believes that as people move through stages of their dementia, they are essentially revisiting the "rooms of their houses" in their mind. They are sorting out what memories are kept and what is discarded. Perhaps this theory explains why people with dementia sometimes regress into re-experiencing situations that happened 20+ years ago. There is something unresolved that must be dealt with before the person can move on through their last life stage. With the help of family or therapist, resolution can be found. The person can successfully move through their end stage. I cant help but wonder what my rooms will hold for me when I am ninety (speaking optimistically!). What will I find brushed under the rugs and how moldy will the food in the refridgerator of my mind be? Will I have the proper cleaning supplies to rid of the dust bunnies collected under my bed? Will we become artists of the missing: revisiting, reconstructing, and retracing the unresolved mysteries of our lives?

"i'm near to sleeping but i'm keeping awake. my room is held in someones arm's. my bed is held in someone's arms." -innocence mission

thanks for being there, ben.