On Reality and Memory

I recently finished Elizabeth Berg's “The Art of Mending.” While I found the story interesting, what really strikes me is the concept of memory, and shared memory. At the heart of the book is an adult child addressing memories that she needs affirmed by her siblings, and memories her siblings can't recall as it never involved them. As the truth comes out, it leads to changing perceptions among the siblings and between them and their mother. But it strikes me because of how, inherently, our memory is limited in its a scope, and how often that memory does not accurately reflect reality (I am naturally assuming that there is one reality, one path of things that actually happened, and then other paths that reflect our memories of those events).

In this situation, its amazing to see how varied the memories are from siblings that grew up in the same household, and who had the same daily interactions with their parents. While there may be one reality, the book really highlights that different receptors of an action will not only interpret it in different ways, but that the difference will be enhanced as the uniqueness of the individuals will also cause them to remember it differently.

The whole line of thought of intrigues me. I have much difficulty remembering many events from my early childhood. I'm pretty good about middle school and high school, but pretty much anything before I was 12 is really sketchy. I know that certain things happen, typically because they were talked about for years afterwards and we have plenty of pictures. For example, I know that I played baseball during many summers growing up, and that my dad coached and my mom was the team scorekeeper; but I can't recall specific games or specific moments very well; I know I hit a home run once, but I can't really recall the field, game, moment, or other details (and for some with usually a decent detailed oriented memory, its frustrating). Thus, whenever I have random images in my mind of various events from childhood, I inevitably question if it really happened; was I really there; was this how it happened. What is my memory changing from what actually happened?

But the book I think poses another question, what do I remember differently about events from those I shared the events with; what do my sister and I remember differently; my parents and I. Often in our society we all talk of the big events that we all knew where we were when it happened or we heard – be it the Kennedy assassination, the Oklahoma City bombings, September 11. Inherent in such broad ranging events is that people's memory is different, because each experience and memory is intrinsically personal. But I find it interesting to find such diversion in memories when talking about shared events involving few people, like a family vacation or a father and son trip to a ball game. Although the event is so small and only affects so few people, its experience over time and in memory grows to be vastly different. It adapts to have different significance and implications depending on the individual doing the remembering.

It seems our shared experiences necessarily diverge in our memories. It makes me wonder how accurate my memories are; not just what have I forgotten, but what, if anything, have I conjured up out of nowhere. I once had a dream that was so realistic that it took me half the day to realize it was a dream...I dreamt that I tossed and turned all night while trying to sleep; I was in the same bed, the same room, nothing was different except for the shirt I was wearing, which was unremarkable. I went through most of the day feeling exhausted, and then I realized the different shirt and realized it was a dream. Despite it being a dream, my perception of it being real made me feel exhausted and tired even though I had slept the night before, well enough to dream. I've always thought memory and perception are tricky items. The idea that I could share a long period of time with someone, like my sister or my parents, and remember that lifestyle completely different than they do is just a reminder to me of how slippery the reality of the past really is.