Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue
or even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

From Billy Collins’ “Forgetfulness“

I struggle to remember a lot of things. The names of state capitals. My new address. The spelling of some words that I used to know by heart. My husband’s phone number. Why I fought with [fill in the blank] years ago. More than 5 or 6 Kentucky Derby winner’s names. The taste of key lime. That I don’t like to eat eel. To turn the washer setting back after washing work out clothes in cold. To bring my sunglasses, phone chargers, contact lens solution when I travel.

I can remember other things. The lyrics to too many songs. The dance routines from middle school cheerleading. The names of most of my teachers. Creeds and prayers from church growing up. How to tap dance. My childhood phone number. Where I was when the space shuttle Columbia exploded. Where I was when the University of Louisville won NCAA championships. Where I was on 9/11. Where I was on January 6th. Where I was when my nieces were born. Where I was when I heard John Lennon died. Where I was when I heard Elvis died.

It makes sense to me that forgetfulness lives inside us. In our nerves that that manage pain. In our blood that is too busy carrying oxygen to do much remembering. In our hands that decide what to grasp and what to let go. In our mind that categorizes and organizes. In our hearts that can break if they hold too much.