Don't You Forget About Me

Friday, September 6, 2013

Today's topic: "A story about a time you were very afraid."

This post has nothing to do with The Breakfast Club (my favorite movie by the way), but the outro, hit song "Don't You (Forget About Me)" by Simple Minds is quite fitting. Do any of you 80's kids remember it?
Photo Credit; Edited by me. 
Today marks the second day in a row during Blogtember that we're going to look back to my ninth year of life. Apparently, a hell of a lot happened to 9 year-old Kari. I was mean and forgettable. 

I don't remember many of the details but that's actually consistent with how I remember things that I am or once was afraid of. I kind of block them out and when I pull on those memories, only certain tethers return, like feelings or settings. My grandmother, whom I called Nanny, was diagnosed with lung cancer when I was a child and she progressively got worse over time. Because her condition was worsening, they (my parents, aunts and uncles) wanted me to spend as much time as possible with her, just in case. I was going to go visit her at her house when my mother tried to explain that Nanny was a bit different from the last time I had seen her. When I asked how, she said that I could go in to see her but that she might not remember me because she had forgotten a lot of things lately. Little did I know that just earlier Nanny didn't even remember her own children, but to my 9 year-old ears, my mother had essentially said "you're grandma has forgotten you." My mother lead me to the hallway that lead to Nanny's bedroom but I would barely budge. I stood with my arms stiffly by my side and took tiny little steps in their direction. My family has told me this story quite a few times since then, about how I was moving so slowly that it would've taken me an hour to enter the room, but I only really remember how I felt. I feared of the possibility that Nana wouldn't know who I was, that her blue eyes would pass over my face without recognition. They say it took them 5 minutes of calling me to get me move an inch and that eventually, my uncle just carried me into the room with my face buried in his chest. But I just remember feeling so very afraid that I had already been forgotten. 

Now that I think about it, this story was a precursor of sorts for my life. If I care to admit it to myself, being forgotten is one of twenty-five year-old Kari biggest fears as well. 

1 comment:

  1. Kari, I love this. The ending - it's just what I was thinking, as I was thinking it. I definitely fear being forgotten - not being memorable, failing to leave my mark. It's a great point, and one that I wouldn't have thought of, for a prompt about fear. But so true. Profound post, and thank you so much for stopping by my little corner of the web today to say hi! I'm so glad you did.


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