Memory

I am reading Pat Conroy's book, "My Reading Life"(Doubleday: 2010) and in it he writes about his life as well as the books he read and the books he wrote. He wrote about his life growing up as a military brat, the son of a U.S. Marine fighter pilot. It was a rough life which he describes in his book, "The Great Santini". His mother divorces his father after 33 years of marriage and one year after his father retired from the military.

During his childhood, his father was cruel to his seven children and to his wife and none of them ever told anyone of the hell they lived at home. Conroy wrote: "Because I was born to be a novelist, I remembered every scene, every beating, every drop of blood shed by my sweet and innocent family."(pg 195)

My father was not in the military, but he beat us and drank heavily. My mother finally divorced him after many years of marriage. I wrote about it in the journals I kept as no one cared about child abuse then. My mother never told anyone and denied it until the day she died including the alcoholic rage he would be in from time to time. Alcohol played a part in my brother's death as it plays a part in my sister's life. Luckily, it skipped over mine.

I was with a friend the other day and he had forgotten some of the times we had over the years. We had been friends since the 1980's and he is a very intelligent man and a few years younger than me. It seemed a little sad to me as he has not kept a journal. During the time that I have known him, he has been in a happy marriage to a wonderful partner and they are still happy together.

We were gazing at the journals that I had in a closet in my office in my new apartment. I still have them although I have no idea what will happen to them once I am finally gone; my youngest son saved them when my ex-husband and oldest son did the Purge in 2010 while I was overseas. I will forever be grateful to him for that. When my memories are disappearing, I can look over those journals and be reminded as I was the other day when I read the journal I wrote just before leaving for Korea in March 2010. I remember accurately what I was doing but not what I was feeling.

There were many times, I would look things up to be reminded of what was happening to me at certain times in my life and get a surprise at my reactions at a certain event or be re-acquainted with my feelings for I often remembered it differently. The events I usually got it right but my emotions were often different. Of course, I am looking at the past with hindsight. I could see how my first marriage was falling apart way before it really did. I just did not want to admit it to myself. The signs were certainly there. I am reminded of people who have since left my life. I often described dreams I have forgotten about. I wrote about my fears, angers and loves. I wrote about loving someone that I have long since forgot about. I wrote about the incidents of raising children, some very funny and treasured. My children are middle-age now. I am so glad I did.

Pat Conroy is a very gifted writer and although he is not one of my favorite; I can understand his book about his reading life the same as I can understand about being in a family in which the father was brutal and cruel. He still loved his father, but I never loved mine. I envy Conroy. I think this was possible because of his remarkable mother. I had trouble with my mother who beat us too. My mother came from another country and felt so disappointed in her choice for a husband and took her disappointment out on her children. Although we made peace before she left this earth, this estrangement left its mark on my life. I wrote about it in my journals as well. I don't know the end result of my writing life, but I do know that writing saved my life and continues to enrich my life.