Half-Remembered Days

They say that you remember only the good things as time goes on. I suppose it depends on who or what it is you are remembering things about.

I have been thinking about my parents. Given recent events, that's an entirely natural thing, I suppose.

The times I remember with my mom are many. Some of them happy, some of them not. As I got older and started living my own life, the happier memories pretty much became things of the past.

A thought that has persisted for many years is that my mom held it together long enough for me to leave the nest. Once I left and was truly on my own—after college—that's when I noticed the biggest change in my mom. That's when—especially looking back—I can see her going down the long road to whatever brand of crazy she was.

Obviously, I wanted no part of that. And I don't blame myself for this. She made the choice to medicate with alcohol when she wasn't medicating with pot. While I don't know what killed her, it wouldn't surprise me if she drank herself to death.

On the other side, there was my dad. Whom, honestly, I struggle to find too many memories of, good or bad. Most of the good ones involve him playing his guitar—a guitar that my sister now has.As">http://techzillasaid.posthaven.com/some-of-dads-songs">As you can hear from these recordings in 1983, he was pretty good, too.

The bad ones? They involve him smoking and how I smelt after going back to my mom's after staying with him. Smoking ended up killing him.

But as I get older, those memories—good or bad—become less remembered.

The feelings, however, are still there. The good ones, and the bad ones. While I think I've come to terms with most of it, I'm still a little raw from recent events.

This too, shall pass and become another half-remembered day.