The Memory Keeper

One of the things that makes Mike’s death hard is the lack of people sharing memories about him. The early days were full of shock and extreme grief. Because of the circumstances of his death and an encounter with a former client who made an inappropriate remark, I was cautious with what I shared. My kids and I still talked about Mike and a few friends, but that was about it. People posted lovely comments on the online obituary about the positive impact that Mike had made on their lives, which meant the world to me. However, when I went back east the summer after Mike’s death, my family barely talked much about him.

Over time, Mike became less social as he suffered from social anxiety and substance abuse disorder. His circle of friends, which was not large to begin with, shrank even more. The people who had memories of him were people with whom he went to high school, a few musician friends, and some friends from our former small town.

With the twelfth anniversary of his death coming up on March 13, 2024, I’ve come to realize that I need to become the memory keeper, keeping Mike alive, if for no one else but me.

I was fortunate to find Charlene Ham’s Curating Grief, https://www.charlenelam.com/, and attended one of her free webinars on the last Wednesday of the month. Charlene shared how she came to this idea when her mother died, and she had to decide what to do with what her mom left behind. She has inspired me to curate Mike’s belongings. Although many of his possessions are gone after twelve years, I still have many meaningful things. I’ve decided to use my photography skills to create a memory collection and write about the objects. People live as long as they are remembered.

I’ve also decided to do this with other objects that belonged to my parents and grandparents. These objects have significant meaning to me that may not have to those I love. That’s because they are associated with my relationships with each person. For instance, I have a Maxfield Parish print in an antique frame that hung over my parents’ bed for as long as I can remember. After Dad died, my sisters’ shipped it to me. It now hangs in my bedroom. It has a sentimental place in my heart as the home where my parents once lived now belongs to another family. Knowing that someday I will die, too, I want to write about these things that are meaningful to me and why. Even if they are not kept, at least the photos and words will be a legacy that I leave behind.