I’m not sure if you’ll be able to access this Atlantic article or not, so I’ll just summarize it a bit for you. It’s about memory or remembering and whether you remember events in the past from the first or third person perspective. I would expand the argument to include imagined events in the future.
When you remember a past event, say one that was particularly notable, do you remember it as you initially experienced it, or do you see yourself in it as a character, almost as an actor, in a play?
I’ll die soon. Soon is an indeterminate word, mind you. I’ve already commented in previous posts about the fact that I’ve not done all that well with chemotherapy. It seems that I’m probably a high-risk cancer patient in any case. I’ve been subjected to a number of different chemotherapy protocols. Now, according to the oncologist at the BC Cancer Centre in Victoria in charge of my case, I’m running out of options. At the moment I’m on a two-month trial with a drug called carfilzomib (trade name Kyprolis). So far, I’m entirely underwhelmed by its effectiveness. The next month will tell the tale. I’m not very hopeful given my recent bloodwork and my reactions to the chemo drugs. But, I haven’t completely abandoned hope. I may still get to live a few more months.
Recently I had a bit of a discussion with the family about MAID (Medical Assistance in Dying). It’s not something I need to consider immediately but eventually it will become an option, particularly when the levels of pain and immobility outweigh quality of life issues for me. I see no need to lie in bed in pain awaiting more or less imminent and sure death when there is the option of assisted suicide. I’ve tried to imagine my dying moments. I can do that from the third person perspective, but definitely not from the first person perspective although I know what it feels like to go under general anaesthetic. I imagine MAID as like going under general anaesthesia but never waking up again. I see myself lying on a gurney with a doctor setting up the meds and then injecting me first with morphine or something like that before administering the killer drug. I can imagine that. I can remember in the first person going into the Hospital to have my kidney removed in 2002. Now that I try, I can also see those events in the third person. Strange.
It’s amazing how many incidents and events I can recall if I put a little effort into it. I have seventy-five years of them to capture. Lots of fodder for remembering. I could write a book, although there is a lot that I would not share with you or anybody, private things.
This post is about me as I age from 1949 or so until now. My life isn’t over yet, but I’m getting close to a complete lifetime. I can track my parents’ lives, at least as far as major events go. My father was born in New Brunswick (1911), my mother in Alberta in 1924. They both died at the Dufferin Lodge in Coquitlam, my father in April, 2007 and my mother in January, 2018. Noting their dates of birth and death means nothing, of course. They are merely life’s parentheses. It’s what transpired between those dates that makes a life. The same goes for me, and you. Photographs tell a bit of the story, but in a static kind of way.
In the first picture, I’m standing there with my sister Denise. She was born in 1943, four years before me, to a mother who subsequently died in 1945 giving birth to what would have been her first son. Denise died on December 13th, 2004 of cancer. I’m not sure where this picture was taken. It looks like it could be in Sapperton, not far from the Royal Columbian Hospital. I would welcome correction on this from anyone in the family. By the time this picture was taken the family lived at 634 Alderson Avenue in Maillardille (Coquitlam).
In this picture I look to be maybe two years old. Denise would have been six. I am endowed with a natural Mohawk hair do. I still have it. I don’t remember anything of what was happening when this picture was taken. I was way too young. The photograph does nothing to jog my memory.
Denise and I always had an interesting relationship. She was pretty tough and I was mouthy. She threw a knife at me at the dinner table when I was probably a pre-teen. She missed, but it was close. That was memorable and I see it in the third person. But during my late, listless, teenage years, after returning from College St-Jean and not knowing up from down, I lived with her and her then husband, Roy, for six months or so, and often looked after the kids (which they had adopted). They had a fairly large home in Vancouver, off of 41st. The basement was made out to look like a TiKi lounge. Strange now, but not so for the times.
I worked with my father at a couple of re-manufacturing plants in Surrey and Langley. But I also worked at a planer mill in Fort Langley. I got drunk on occasion with some of the guys from work. It’s amazing we didn’t kill ourselves on the way home from work. One of the guys drove a convertible and that’s what we came home in most of the time. Mom and Dad had to know but they never said anything.
From the time I left College St-Jean until I enrolled in courses at Douglas College in New Westminster in 1970 or so, I worked at a number of odd jobs, mostly in the lumber or related industries. For a few months I worked at a plywood plant on Braid Street in New Westminster. I remember the smells and sounds of that place the most, but I also remember (in the first person) the work I did, piling pieces of veneer in bins in preparation for pressing them into plywood. The last job I had before going to Douglas College was at a sawmill in Marpole. I worked there for maybe six hours total. I recall being required to ‘clean up the chain’ of massive timbers. I did that for a bit but then I slipped and had one of the timbers fall on me as I fell off the platform. I could barely walk after that so I dragged myself to the first aid shack. Nobody there. So I struggled to my car (an Austin Healey Sprite) and drove myself to the hospital. I had back surgery then. Dr. Hill (I recall his name to this day) removed a disc in my lower back. Worker’s Compensation (now Worksafe BC) paid for everything including my first year of studies at Douglas College. There was never an inquiry as to what happened at the mill and as to why there was nobody in the first aid shack when I went there for help. Workers Compensation just paid for everything, no questions asked.
I find the series of photographs here helpful in some way in jogging my memory. The early ones don’t help at all but the later ones do. The one I posted of me doing my Knowledge Network tele course is still available to me as a video so I can go back and see myself over and over again if I so choose. I have many more photos too, but I’m not going to post all of them here.
All I wanted to do here is give the flavour of my life as I grew up, then grew down. We all have individual experiences of life. I often think of the many thousands of people who have died in conflict over the centuries, their lives often cut short by machetes, as in Rwanda in 1994. I suppose if a long life is a good thing, then I’ve had a good life.
9 thoughts on “Memory Works With A Little Effort”
fascinating life review. love the photos – like the one with the mohawk. sounds like your process is slo-mo…. which in a way is a gift.
On Wed, Aug 31, 2022 at 10:11 AM Roger Albert – Always a Sociologist: Now
Thanks, Ed. I seem to be attached to my oncologists by the hip lately and the situation isn’t improving.
I may need some radiation treatment on my lower back, but we’ll see. Myeloma is a real bitch. Keeps me guessing. Throws new things my way on a regular basis. Oh well. You’re right. The process is slo-mo.
I like the Tom Selleck look in the 80’s!
I always have this weird thought about pictures of me and family after I die. I imagine someone finding a shoebox of photos and wondering who the people are in the photos and tossing them!
Great comment! But who are you?
Hello from Lasqueti Island where a former Merville woman now raises algae in her off grid marine lab. I have been following your blog for months and will keep following you until you stop writing to us. I recommend this link. https://iands.org/ndes/nde-stories/iands-nde-accounts.html
No one knows what will wait for them beyond this life, but many who have died and returned do not fear death at all. Please keep writing and posting pics. It means a lot to me to follow you on your journey. Kat
Hi Kat. I’m not at all convinced about the reality of near death experience. Our brains are amazing and
can produce incredible sensations and experiences. I don’t fear death. When the time comes, it will come, that’s all there is to it.
Lasqueti has always been a draw for me. We sailed there a number of times years ago. It looks like you have planes landing at False Bay now too. The weather would be a factor, no doubt. Screaming southeasters would not be conducing to water landings. Take care.
I love my Lasqueti life winter and summer. We live on 150 acres with a mile of waterfront on the Texada/Jedediah Island side of Lasqueti. You can see a bit of our place if you search for innovativeaqua.com. I like to believe that we carry on and that the universe is a collection of vibrant energy. We will not go before we go, but I like to believe that it is so.
I respect whatever you believe, Kat. I sure won’t try to convince you otherwise.
Like I said, I loved sailing and anchoring off Lasqueti. We anchored in a bay on the east side of the island a number of times. I love the bird life there, especially the oyster catchers with their yellow feet.
I live in a wonderful little hand-built house on the waterfront and watch whales (occasionally) and yachts, tugs and ships every day from my deck. We are retired from the mussel growing business, but still raise marine algae in our lab (for fish and shellfish larvae) and I garden every day. I love reading your blog and hope that you can keep writing for a long time. Good night now.
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