How does grief impact our memories?

Is my brain protecting me from something? Or am I just old?

They were platform wedges, the straps flimsy in their attempt to hold the heavy shoe on my adolescent and easily twisted ankles. They had glitter all over the wedge and I wore them with low-slung, flared jeans, the sparkle just poking out and catching the light as I walked.

They were last seen in 2001, lost on a dance floor somewhere. Yet I can recall them so easily. What use is that? Why?

They just clog up valuable space in my mind, a shallow memory that could, instead, be filled with one of her. My mum bought me those shoes, yet I have no recollection of the shopping trip we went on together to get them. They were so impractical, so unlike any of the other ‘sensible’ shoes she bought me. It must have meant something for her to decide, fuck it, let’s go for the ridiculous made-for-dancefloors-not-dancing wedges. It must have been a fun, exciting moment for us both when she placed down her credit card.

But… nothing. 

My mind is full of pointless remnants like this. They command my thoughts when I try to think back. What use is my knowledge of a t-shirt she once owned, baggy to her knees, with a huge navy blue graphic letter T across the bust? When I can’t remember what it felt like to hold my tear-soaked face against her chest?

Everything important about her is gone. I have tried to recover it but I can’t. So much of her is lost to this cavernous, yet forever whirring brain of mine. Considering I last saw her almost two decades ago maybe this is natural. Our memories are slowly slipping away: each day my past is being pushed out to make way for my present.

But it’s always been this way. Since she died I haven’t been able to find her. In the years that followed her death even things like the shoes and the t-shirt were impossible to place. The only moments I could remember with her were torturous ones - things that happened in the months she was dying, or words that I had said in teenage tantrums. Those hormonal screams of hatred played in a loop round and round until I convinced myself she didn’t know I loved her at all. 

I convinced myself she didn’t know I loved her at all. 

Why such cruelty from within? I’ve always prided myself on my memory, being able to recall events and funny stories my friends have long forgotten. So why has my brain let me down when it comes to something so crucial? Could it be the grief? What impact does trauma have on our minds?

According to some scientists grief can have such an extreme impact on the brain it’s akin to suffering a blow to the head. We simply can’t retain information the way we used to. But most of what they discuss is how when we’re going through ‘stuff’ (of course they didn’t use the word ‘stuff’ but you know, a hard, traumatic time) we can’t function how we used to. We forget our keys, our phone numbers, our coats… but most of that happens in the tornado of grief. The months immediately after loss.

What about people like me? Years and years on and still unable to recall vivid memories.  A 2019 study showed that grievers minimise awareness of thoughts related to their loss. So is that it? It’s too much for me to remember mum, to relive our happy moments as it reminds me of everything that’s gone and can never come back? 

Is it not enough that I was there, that she was there and that we were happy most of the time?

After some ‘extensive research’ (aka literally googling the words: ‘can’t remember dead parent’) I came across an article where the writer had a similar experience to mine. He lost his mum at 23. I lost mine at 19. At the time of writing he’d just turned 45. I’m 37. He could remember little of his mum. He wondered if the trauma could have wiped his brain clean to protect him. But the experts he spoke to dismissed that theory, citing the very simple (but slightly disappointing) fact that we don’t remember our childhood memories as they are mundane. I guess this explains why what stands out - for me - are the hard parts. As they shattered splinters in my otherwise happy childhood. It’s a sad thought, really, that my brain has decided that joy isn’t worth remembering. That it clings to unhappy moments as if they were sweeties to be savoured. 

Perhaps though, I am placing too much emphasis on memories. Why do I need something to replay, to relive, when there’s no way of going back? Is it not enough that I was there, that she was there and that we were happy most of the time? Do I need something to override the melancholy memories, the ones that kick me in the stomach every now and then? Or is it a desire to grab onto anything - even if it’s dusty air within my own head - so as if to feel as if she exists somewhere present? If I had strong memories would they help me? Or would they trap me? I don’t know.

What do you think? How well can you remember the person you have lost? Do you have any tricks to help you remember them? Let me know in the comments! And if you liked this, please subscribe and share…