Milestones and Memories

I understand that victims of Alzheimer’s disease lose their memories. How tragic, because without our memories, we don’t know who we are. Our identities are tied to our memories. Without memories we can only live in the present.

When we moved to the mission field, I felt that something was missing, but I didn’t know what it was. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, and then one day it hit me like a ton of bricks! I had no memories here. Everything I did, everywhere I went, was for the first time. I had no previous experiences here. I had no past. I only had the present.

Slowly, we began to accumulate experiences which became the foundation for memories. Not all the experiences we had were good ones, but even they helped us. For instance, the obtaining of our first temporary residence visa was a very difficult and trying experience. Two years later when we had to reapply, remembering the experience gave us the knowledge and wisdom we needed to make this time easier. We learned from our mistakes. You see, we can’t take advantage of past mistakes unless we remember them. That experience becomes a memory.

I remember our first Christmas tree and the quest to find lights and ornaments in an impoverished, former Communist country. Now, when we get out the tree at Christmas, each ornament we hang has a special memory attached to it.

I remember moving into our first house and the excitement we shared as we set up housekeeping. It took months because we lived in a new town and we didn’t know where to shop.

I also remember my first car and my first speeding ticket. I remember how slow our internet service was before we got our first DSL line.

I remember the first friends we made, our daughter’s first visit, our first trip back to the states. I remember our first snowfall, our first visit to the lake, and the first time we went sailing.

I remember walking Agata, one of our daughters in the Lord, down the aisle because she had no one else. I remember rushing Asia, another daughter in the Lord, to the hospital to have her first child. I remember our own daughter, Heather, telling me by phone on Father’s Day that I would soon be a grandfather. This week I will marry a son and daughter in the Lord, my first marriage here.

I remember the first time we went to the movies. We had been here several months before we learned that the movies are in English and not in Polish.

We were here for Y2K. We watched the second plane fly into the World Trade Center on our TV. We remember walking down the street being careful to stop speaking English if we saw anyone who looked middle eastern. We nervously watched on Fox News the coverage of the sniper killings in Maryland, knowing that our daughter lived only 20 miles from where they were taking place. We endured the suspense of the last two presidential elections as they counted ballots in Florida and Ohio.

These are memories that we will keep for a lifetime. We will embellish them and tell and retell them to our grandchildren. Just as my dad used to captivate me with his stories of the road, I will use the memories that I have experienced here to paint a portrait in their minds of their grandfather who was a missionary to Poland. And they will remember.