Over the last few weeks there has been a great reminder to me about loss of loved ones. One of the greatest loss I have experienced was that of my Nanna. I was in the second trimester of having my second child. I received a phone call as I arrived home from work. The voice was urgent seeking my identity and asking me to head to my Nan's home because she had collapsed. Her screen door was locked and I brought all keys possible to get into her house but not that key. About two minutes later the ambulance arrived and managed to get the screen door open. My biggest regret is that I moved out of the way to allow the ambulance officers space to do their job. Nanna was talking to them even bossing me around to get her purse as she was put into the ambulance. My biggest regret in that busyness was that I didn't hug or touch her for that one last time. The one last time that I never knew I would never have again.
The months that followed were filled with mixed emotion. Being pregnant did not help as the hormones also dictated my emotions at uncontrollable times. I immediately sought help as I knew I would be susceptible to post natal depression after such a loss. Many people did not understand why this loss of Nanna impacted me the way it did. She was old, she was unwell with her body a ticking time bomb as it kept at bay two aneurysms just waiting for the right moment to explode. Plus death was part of life, why would I be so upset by a death that was expected? What many people did not understand was that my Nanna was more than just a Nanna, daily I could see her in me. I could see her wilfulness, determination, stubbornness, regal airs and much of our time was spent together arguing with each other because we were so much alike. However, with every argument there was love. My Nanna would make me Italian spaghetti and stewed apples when I was sick. Even when she was no longer the one called to look after me on sick days she would still make these dishes and bring them to me. Her care never stopped. Even when I suffered terrible morning sickness with my daughter she sat next me showing me the bright rainbow bear she had bought for the unborn child. Now this bear is but a grey tone of its original colours as it lays in the arms of my daughter every night during her sleep.
Memory is in many ways a blessing, but it is also wrought with pain, suffering and a need to be forgotten. I have always had a good memory of which I have often said is a blessing and a curse. Time does not heal in my case for a long time, because memory will often persist with its pain. Salvador Dali's artwork is perhaps one of the most recognised surrealist pieces of art. The artwork touches on the barrenness of memory, how it can be impervious to time. Time continues to pass and yet memory can withstand.
It would be easy for me to indulge my memory and allow it to control my future. However, that is the beauty of dreams. Within the style of surrealism was the openness to representing the dream like state of our minds. I have the choice to allow my memory and past to determine my future, to allow it to put aside my dreams. But I do not do this. I will not allow my memories to dictate to me my dreams. I allow my dreams to be a vision of what is not yet seen and only written and seen by God. I will always treasure particular memories and try to forget the ones that have no business to plague my future. But I am a dreamer, an optimist, I will not predict whether the glass is half full or empty. For I truly believe it is always full. It just may not be filled with what I expect or could ever dream.
The Persistence of Memory
Salvador Dali (1931)
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