Memory Loss

The funeral was gray. No one thought to wear bright colors, certainly not Mae, even though most of her wardrobe was rainbow. She had to dig into her closet to find something that was mournful and modest. She didn’t want anyone to think she was happy about her grandfather dying. 

After all, you’re not allowed to celebrate death. 

People came up to her saying how sorry they were, how it was too early for him to go, all the usual shit. And for the whole two hours, she managed to give the appropriate amount of tears, sad smiles, and hugs for no one to suspect anything.

She hated him. She really did. He was manipulative and a liar and liked treating her like trash. Once he locked her in a cabinet for an hour because she was trying to grab a sweet from the top shelf. Another time he made her wear her wet underwear all day because she had wet the bed. And those were the good days when she was too young to understand why she always was sick to her stomach the hours before Mom would drop her off. 

Mae shuddered in the front pew. She wouldn’t miss him, even though everyone wanted her to. He didn’t deserve her grief. 

But still, as she watched her grandfather’s friends and family walk past his dead body and pay respects, she felt alone. People remembered good times, yet she found herself unable to think of anything to add. So, she stood there, quiet as her mom, thinking about how memories can taint. How, as long as she knew him for his life, she could never grieve his death. As long as she remembered the bad times, she could never be sad he was gone.

She just needed Memori. A few years ago, her friend had used it to help her forget an abusive ex. It gave her the space she needed to move on and not be held back by the trauma. 

Maybe if Mae purchased Memori as well, it would help her grieve like everyone wanted her to.

As the burial ended, a family member hugged her and she hugged them back, sniffling. For now, she just needed to act like she was truly sad, and no one would suspect a thing.

Once the funeral was over, however, her facade broke. She ran upstairs and ordered Memori with expedited shipping.  It claimed to remove specific memories quickly and effectively. All you had to do was connect it to your mind, select the memory, and press the button (and confirmation button) to remove it. It was that simple!

It came the following day, and Mae eagerly pulled off the plastic on the orange carpeted floor of her bedroom. She read the instructions, learned how it worked, and found the best way to hook it up.

But once she made it that far, her hand stopped. The machine felt invasive almost. No, not almost. Completely. If she started to delete her memories, she would no longer feel the anger at her grandfather that she knew he deserved.

She’d rather be alone in her anger than faking her grief. 

So, she hid the blue box in the back of her closet, right near her rainbow boots. And, she went downstairs, turning on a sorrowful expression as her foot hit the bottom step. She didn’t want Mom to feel alone, but wasn’t ready yet to follow through on what that meant.

Her decision didn’t last long. Every time she watched her mom sit head in hands, shoulders moving up in down with each tear,  Mae caught herself glancing up the stairs. Two days after the funeral, it started to physically hurt to answer the door for imposing relatives she’d never met. They claimed they were just “checking in” but Mae knew better. They wanted to see if her mom had moved on yet and the answer was always the same: she hadn’t.

And as much as Mae wanted to move on too, she wouldn’t leave her mom alone.

So, when her mother, for the fourth time that day, forgot to eat the snack Mae had prepared for her—opting to stare at an empty bed, chair, or couch instead—, Mae couldn’t take it anymore. No matter how much she acted, Mae knew she would never understand as long as she hated her grandfather. And she didn’t want her mom to feel as alone as Mae felt.

So that night, while Mom wailed in heartbreaking pain, Mae silently pulled Memori out of the closet, started it up, and removed the worst memory of her grandfather: the first night she stayed over. He’d kept her from calling Mom all night. When she’d finally snuck away to a telephone at three in the morning and tried dialing, she found the line was disconnected. Her grandfather was around the corner with a key in his hand.

I told your mother that I would watch you. And so I will.

It was the first time she went into the closet and the last time she tried to tell her mom she didn’t feel safe with him. Telling mom never helped anyway. It just made the punishment at the next visit even worse. Made her wish she’d never said anything at all.

The memory hurt while the machine removed it, and she had to bite on her yellow shirt to stop herself from screaming. It was like she was living it all over again. The darkness, the locked door, the fright of not knowing if she would ever escape.

The loneliness. 

And then, it was gone and Mae felt lighter in some ways. She ran downstairs and hugged her Mom, feeling a little more connected to the tears.

So, she continued, removing one sour memory each week as not to overwhelm her brain. She had heard stories about people who had removed an entire person in one night and weren’t able to function after.

______________

“How are you doing, hun?” a random relative asked weeks after the service. They had brought over dinner and thought that gave them the right to broach the conversation. While Mae was happy for the food—Mom had been struggling to serve or make or eat anything—she didn’t think she or Mom was up for talking about it.

“As good as can be,” Mae responded. Last night, she had removed another wisp of him. She wasn’t sure what memory it was as it was gone now, but she knew it must have made him seem a little less abusive in her mind. Seem a little less terrifying, horrible, and mean. 

It was a ritual now A thing she did whenever her mind didn’t feel right. Something so Mom didn’t feel alone in her grief. So Mae didn’t feel alone in her anger.

“That’s good. That’s good. You know, Aunt Emy and I were thinking of…” and the stranger went on with something different as though they were just talking about the weather instead of her dead grandfather. While she watched the family member talk, she glanced at her mother who had gotten quieter and quieter as the conversation continued. 

Still, even through all of this, Mae couldn’t help her mom feel less alone.

______________

When Facebook showed Mae that he had been dead for a year, forty-nine memory removals later, she felt a little more hurt in her soul. She remembered how he gave her sweet ice cream on her birthday and twisted her hair into beautiful braids before bringing her back to Mom. She wiped her eyes. She still remembered some of the hurt of her relationship with him, but now the pain of him mixed with the pain of grieving him until all she felt was numb. Not exactly hurting, but not exactly better either. 

Mom had found a similar muteness. They both were caught in the silence of returning to grief after months of seemingly moving on. Mae wanted to reach out, but now that she was in a similar spot, she didn’t know how to form words to show that she understood. So, she just stood there, watching as her Mom cut up vegetables quietly, only the pulse of the knife hitting the cutting board breaking the silence.

______________

It wasn’t until her grandfather’s 2nd birthday after his death that she got rid of the last haunt. But by then, everyone had moved on, decided that other deaths were more important. Even Mom seemed to be doing better. She smiled more, even laughed sometimes.

So, feeling a deep hurt for someone she loved dearly, who she shared only happy memories with, Mae cried. And, once she started, she couldn't stop. She missed him, her wonderful grandfather.