Hello friends,
I don’t remember where I first saw the above image. I think one of the newsletters I subscribe to mentioned the artist, but I can’t be sure. I forget a lot of things these days. The myriad scars in my brain are measured in millimeters, yet they cause interruptions like city-wide blackouts. Conversations go in one ear and disappear into a system no longer equipped to store them.
Thinking about it now, I feel lingering guilt around my frustration during my grandma’s final years. She forgot things two minutes after she heard them. We repeated our conversations several times, stuck in a loop she couldn’t extract herself from. People have told me I remind them of her since I was a small girl. From the points of our noses and chins to our constantly freezing extremities, we shared a bond. Now we share another, one she will never know and which I may one day forget. She would appreciate the irony.
How much have I lost? Is it better not to know? I want to write down more little moments from my days, but most of my days seem unremarkable. Maybe that’s what makes them wondrous. Maybe one day, I’ll think of this time as a period of slowness, a shedding of what no longer fits my shape. Then again, I might not think of it at all. But someone might see these newsletters, these journals, and treasure them like snakeskin found in the woods. Perhaps my future self will appreciate the mere act of being in a way my present self hasn’t yet accomplished.
How many of your own thoughts go unsaid and then forgotten? Or are you still blissfully unaware of your own potential for disintegration? My scars are only visible with the aid of an MRI, but I’m always aware of them. Every time my muscles spasm or my toes go numb, I picture those tiny lesions. They barely exist, but their impact is like a meteor striking the Earth. There’s a lesson there as well, a medicine offered from this disease. Sometimes the quietest whispers leave the most lasting echoes.
What echoes do you hope the future hears? What ripples will you set in motion? Let me know in the comments.
Until next time,
Yardena