My Ma came by today with a pile of old photos. She was like, “I don’t have room for these anymore. Take them.”
That’s cool. Except…who’s that in the one of me at the hot-air balloon landing? And whose dog am I hugging there? And did I really wear floaties in my grandparent’s portable pool?
I don’t remember any of this.
Which is normal. You can’t remember everything, especially from when you were young. But it feels like these whole sections of my life are missing and I’ll never get them back. I played with friends and went hiking and fed animals at petting zoos, and all of these experiences add up to the person I am today. So it’s all good. I just wish I could remember.
The thing is, I don’t have much family to ask. So there’s no way to find out about all of this mystery info. Like, here’s a photo of my Gramp in World War II with a big gun strapped across his back and I don’t even know any of his stories. It’s just not the kind of thing I thought about asking when he was alive. And I really regret that now. Or the photo of my Gram from a long time ago, probably in the 1930s, but I’ll never know why she was wearing that uniform. All of this history is just…lost. Forever.
This is why I’m into archival scrapbooking. I want to remember my life and the lives of everyone important to me. I don’t want any of this to fade. Just like Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bookends”:
Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
a time of innocence, a time of confidences.
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they’re all that’s left you.