The late, great film critic Roger Ebert once noted (and I'm paraphrasing because I can't find the exact quote at the moment) that one of the benefits of relationships is that the other person acts as a sort of mirror to our lives. He was mostly referring to romantic couplings, though I think this can be expanded to encompass parents, friends and other platonic relationships. Indeed, sharing experiences with people helps create a collective memory, or sorts. These shared memories can help us bond, both in the moment and later on down the road, as the memories are recalled, hopefully fondly.
What happens, however, when age and time begin to ravage the memory banks of our compatriots? Or, perhaps, ourselves? In reality, memory is often variable, and no two people will have exactly the same recollection of events. And yet, when one of those involved in the same situation begins to have no remembrance of it at all, then that is truly saddening. It is depressing for them, and for the other, the one who remembers. We have, to use Ebert's terminology, lost our "mirror." Or, perhaps, more accurately, the mirror has become broken.
As I become comfortably ensconced in what is termed middle-age, the importance of having shared memories grows. In fact, I am sometimes startled at how powerful the need for it is. This becomes apparent when I go to a person for one of those 'remember when?' conversations, and we reminisce about an occasion, or perhaps a mutual friend who may no longer be living. Recalling such shared experiences can sometimes be cathartic. Of course, the opposite situation can leave one disconsolate. What if we go to a person we shared encounters with, and they apparently do not recall that particular day, or event? There is a deflation of excitement, and an apprehension of both the condition of the person who doesn't remember, and of ourselves with doubts of our own mental acuity.
Of course, this all beg the question: Why are shared memories so important? There are plenty of folks who live their lives alone, travel alone, experience things alone, with no one there to have a common memory of events, and they seem to get along okay. Why, then, is having a "mirror" so vital to some (including yours truly)? That may be more elusive to answer than we might imagine. Maybe it's the 'humans are social animals' dynamic, or perhaps we simply cherish experiences -- and the memories made from them -- more if others are involved.
Losing a shared reference point because of death is sorrowful enough, however, what is perhaps more depressing is when the loss of the "mirror" occurs not because of death, but age, or memory loss. It is one thing to lose a sentient being whom we love, but quite another for them to be here, but no longer remember much of the life that was shared together. Across the world every day, millions of people deal with this very issue, whether they be the patient, caregiver and/or family member, or friend. Even in this age of ubiquitous recording capability, many of the events we experience are ephemeral, and someday no one will be able to recollect them at all. Ultimately, that may make them all the more special.
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