Memories

As I write Journal of Grief, I'm writing my memories. Mostly. Some of the things are pulled from emails and other records. I've included some articles from 2020 to give context at times.
But mostly I'm writing my memories. And memories - as we all know - can be subject to misremembering. I think the older memories are probably clearer, as they've been reinforced over the years as I've told my husband and other people about them. I just today wrote about my weekly calls with my mother and about going to church with her. The memories associated with those things are pretty clear.
I'm also trying not to embellish what happened. Channeling Joe Friday, "Just the facts, ma'am." What happened in 2020 was horrific enough. It doesn't really need a lot of editorializing. Just the sheer number of infections and deaths. The craziness of the public health situation. No need to add much to any of that.
But my memories are the bulk of what is essentially a memoir. And because they are my memories, I'm sure that other people will remember them differently, even those that were intimately involved.
I can only hope that they see in my memories glimpses of their own memories. And so believe them to be the truth - as I saw it.