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I don’t remember much from my childhood—or even from just five years ago. My memories tend to come in fragments: a few specific events or a vague, generalized feeling that sums up an entire period of my life, usually defined by schools or jobs. What makes my memory even more peculiar is how I often recall things in the third person, as though I’m watching someone else’s life unfold. It’s strange, almost as if those memories don’t truly belong to me.
One day, I mentioned to my mom how I don’t remember much from my childhood and how I often recall memories as if I’m watching them from the outside. She paused for a moment and then asked me, “Will you forget me after I’m gone?” Her question caught me off guard, and I quickly reassured her, “I could never forget you—how could I?”
After her passing, as I navigated the unpredictable waves of grief, a troubling thought began to take hold: what if I did forget her? What if she became just another vague, distant memory, one I could only recall in third person? The idea was deeply upsetting, and though I tried to reassure myself that it wouldn’t happen, the comfort I sought always seemed just out of reach.
During the years I had the honor of being one of her caregivers, I often found myself studying her face and every little detail about her. I wanted to commit it all to memory. I treated each day as though it could be our last together, making a conscious effort to truly see her every time I looked at her. Even at night, before heading upstairs, I’d pause to wish her goodnight, always glancing back to meet her eyes one more time. Deep down, I knew that someday, she wouldn’t be there.
Early in my grief therapy sessions, I shared with my wonderful therapist my deep fear of forgetting my mom and the way my memories seem fragmented—or sometimes absent altogether. I told her that, deep down, I knew I could never truly forget her, but the relentless "what ifs" kept gnawing at my mind. I also admitted that I didn’t want to lose the memories of the week leading up to her passing, even though some moments had initially triggered vivid and painful flashbacks. I understood that forgetting can be the brain’s way of shielding us from pain, but I was determined to hold onto everything—no matter how much it hurt.
During one of our sessions, my therapist suggested I start writing down my memories. She also recommended a few guided journals and books on grief to help me process everything. One journal I found particularly helpful was A Daughter's Grief Journal: Daily Prompts and Exercises for Navigating the Loss of Your Mother (Link).
Inspired by her advice, I also researched free, private online journaling apps that work seamlessly across both mobile and desktop. After exploring a few options, I started using Goodnight Journal (Link), which I highly recommend for anyone looking for a convenient and secure way to document their thoughts.
One of the first steps I took to preserve my memories was writing a letter to myself in the journaling app. I also emailed a copy of it to ensure it was saved. In that letter, I detailed everything I could remember about the entire week leading up to her passing. It took time to complete, as I was still grappling with vivid flashbacks, but I’m so grateful I wrote it all down.
I also started a private "book" within Goodnight Journal—a collection of entries organized under one category—where I documented other memories and my emotions as they came. Interestingly, after my mom’s passing, I noticed memories from my childhood starting to resurface, as though they had been waiting to be uncovered.
If you’re someone who fears forgetting a loved one or the moments surrounding their passing, I highly recommend writing down everything you remember. You don’t have to revisit what you’ve written right away—or even ever—but knowing those memories are preserved in written form can bring a sense of comfort and security.
For me, documenting my memories has given me peace of mind. I no longer feel like they’re slipping away. If you have photos or videos, those can also be incredibly helpful in keeping memories alive. They’ve been a valuable part of my journey, too.
-j🌻