Kind (Self) Regards: Memory

My mother is in her eighties. She lives with her dog in the house where I grew up. Her biggest fear is Alzheimer’s disease, yet her memory is flawless. I recently went to a funeral with her where she and her cousins stood freely trading stories of growing up in the Bronx. I, on the other hand, remember nothing – which by the way is the title of a book by Nora Ephron I recently read. In fact, my world is filled with “whatchamacallits” and “whatshisnames.” And I don't seem alone in this. My sister, who is six years younger, told me she puts a full glass of water outside of her shower every morning so she knows if she has taken her daily pills. Glass with water means take pills. No glass means I don't remember if I have taken them or not.

It is annoying enough when you can't remember your morning pills, but even more annoying when you can't remember the name of the man you lived with for eight years and your whole childhood is a blank. My mother will say do you remember this? Do you remember that? No. I remember nothing. But his name was Bob and we were as different as could be. He was dazzlingly beautiful and had an army of friends for whom he was the center of the universe. I was forever introduced as “Bob's girlfriend," which slowly drove me crazy. No, I wanted to say, my name is Vicki. But during those years I had no name. And so eventually our relationship had to end if I was ever going to achieve anything of my own -- or so I thought.

Even when I can’t remember his name, I can still remember the magnetic draw he had on people. I helped put him through law school and he occasionally appears in the news media once again defending someone I think should be sent away for life.

Imagine my surprise, then, when years after we went our separate ways my mom called to say you'll never guess what happened today. It seems that Bob had been in the area and, remembering where my parents lived, had stopped by to say hello. He told my mom that his son was dating someone who reminded him of me and that is something I do not forget. Someone who reminded him of me -- what does that mean? It just pops into my head at the weirdest of times. Is she curly haired? Does she see the world from left of center? Has she studied abroad? Or is there something more – something that speaks to the question of why...why me? Why did he choose me? What made me special? And really, isn’t that the question we all want answered?

Kind (Self) Regards,

Vicki



Vicki Wray lives in North Stamford, and until recently spent most of her waking hours in New York City as a corporate communications executive. Working for companies like Pfizer, Revlon and AOL Time Warner has allowed her to meet wonderful colleagues and a slew of interesting personalities including the president of the United States, supermodels and star athletes, famous artists and a Justice of the Supreme Court. She is a natural observer, type A personality, and a life-long "spa junkie". Vicki firmly believes in the health benefits of being kind to oneself; taking a moment to breath, relax and finding simple joy in our every day existence.

Her column, Kind (self) Regards, will be a regular feature of the Aetheria Spa blog. If you enjoy her point of view, or would like to share your ideas, please contact her at vicki@aetheriaspa.com.