HOW I wish I could conjure and watch a documentary reel of sorts that could somehow show how our family and clan have grown and developed, starting from that fateful day in August 2007 up till a few days from now in this year of 2026. In all, that is 19 years, Mom, and that is indeed a long time.
Sadly, I can only rely on my mind’s eye for doing that, and as of late, the old memory bank has slowly become unreliable, with its steadily growing lapses and foggy reminiscences.
How often do I wish our eldest brother was still around? Like our father, his memory was as keen and accurate as could be. He remembered the birthdays of everybody in the family, including those of family friends.
All we had to do was check the huge kalendaryo by the stairs, and we were sure to find, encircled with a red Sharpie, all of the birthdays in each month (including death anniversaries of those who’ve passed on.
How great a power was that? Consider this for good measure: my parents have 20 grandchildren, 22 great-grandchildren, and six great-greats to date. If my brother were alive today, I’m sure he would have marked down all their birthdays as well in that stairway calendar, the one bearing in bold fonts the name of the appliance store where he got it from.
I even picture, if both of my brother and mom were still here, she would ask as she’s driven to work, whose birthday was it now. Whether that really happened or not, it’s all water under the 19-year-old bridge now. 2007-2026, the dash between those years hides a ton of stories and events, and how I wish I could view most, if not all, once again.
How I wish I could witness once again the old times, when I would bring DVD copies of your favorite 50s movies, and we’d watch them together while you excitedly narrate whatever happened behind-the-scenes of each one. Always with a story to tell, you. That memory surely finds a place in my 19-year review, Mom.
Sometimes I wonder how your great-great-grandchildren will picture and describe you when they’ve finally grown.
Would you be just a photo they see on the wall of the old home or just a blurry impression of a lola culled from stories about you by their elders? I, too, sometimes look back and try to revive old memories of our grandparents and imagine I’m in the dark like they are.
In spite of what the years may lay ahead, failing memory included, there’s still comfort in the thought that you still exist in the people I know, Momsy, and that’s a safe refuge at times. Give or take, fifty years or 19 more, the best comfort is that we are sure to meet again.
