I will never forget you.  And I don't want others to forget you either.

By Pat Schwiebert, R.N.
pat@tearsoup.com

After the death of a valued companion we seem to have a deep need to preserve their memory.  We write about them; we collect objects that hold meaning about them; we gather people together to tell stories about them; we make their favorite food; we create jewelry that contains their cremains; or we write their name in the sand. 

Makeshift monuments pop up where a tragedy has occurred—a cross perhaps with flowers at the side of the road.  The German word for monument is “denkmal," which means "thought object”.  There is a loud shout that goes along with these monuments. ”Think about it! Look what just happened.  Every time you drive by here, remember and learn from this.”  It seems to be the responsibility of those who loved and lost to hold the torch so others can see what is no longer here. 

We name buildings, build lasting monuments, place plaques on objects, establish ongoing memorial gifts, as a way to honor, to appreciate, to educate about, or to continue the work of the one who died.  Memorials can be grand, expensive and conspicuous, or they can be simple and draw little attention.  They can be public or private.  The individual meaning is what makes an object a memorial. 

Memorials are also created as a way of coping with overwhelming grief. The word memorial literally means to remember.  A parents whose child has died may find great comfort in getting a tattoo of their baby’s footprint or tattooing their baby’s name where others can see it and inquire about it, thus assuring that their child will always be remembered, and that the child will always be with them. Our infant loss group will soon unveil a memorial path that contains bricks with their baby’s names inscribed for all to see.  Our Parents of Murdered Children group created a beautiful garden with a wall containing names of their loved ones who died a violent death.

I still have my mother’s coffee cup filled with powdered cream and sugar beside her memorial folder in our dining room.   I look up and smile and greet her every morning.  Her whistle still hangs on the dresser knob in my bedroom.  She hoped at least I would not forget her and I haven’t .

Memorials help us to look back and move forward.  We can safely continue on because we remember.

What we remember lives on.