revealing memory

my wife started

scrapbooking,

collecting pictures from before us and

since us and

from now and

from then and then

gluing them in a spiral-bound sketchbook to

rest, set, and collect sentiments in the margins.

"i don't want to forget," says her fear.

her grandmother was just diagnosed with dementia, so her fear anchors itself as though it were reality,

as though it were a sure thing.

"if i don't do this, i will forget."

so i help her gather her memories,

a collection is taken up,

and i find the pictures i snuck on our first few dates; the ones i didn't think she would notice. the ones that i sent to friends to brag. the ones that show us reaching, holding, and feeling excited about the newness of each other.

we may not be new now. five years is young, not fresh,

but we are still eager and act accordingly.

i am eager to stand behind her while she sits at her desk. to wrap my arms over her shoulders and peer around her neck. to see the photos she chooses and carefully adheres to these pages of impressions.

eager to know what is important to her, what stands out, what forms in her mind as essential to remember.

each artifact is a piece of her revealed to me. such significance is not lost, it is cherished deeply.

this gathering feels like the first of many steps toward creating the ever- elusive and

highly prized legacy.

the remembrance.

a step toward family.

the root.

my fear:

oblivion,

is rendered toothless with this love.

so i will create, cultivate, and nurture it

as one might tend to a seed

or a child.

the future reveals itself from there.