Work Text:
Dear Mom,
JJ said something today that stuck with me. It was not so much what she said, but the tone with which she said it. She said, “You think she forgot about you.” She said it as if I was ridiculous to be afraid of that, as if she did not know I have every reason to be.
I take that to mean she must have forgotten. It is true that I told her a lot of things those weeks I was grieving for Emily, when I thought we were growing closer. I suppose there is no reason for her to remember that in particular. I’m referring to the fact that I told her about the time when I was thirteen and you forgot about having a son for three weeks and two days. I confessed that while that was the longest consecutive time it had ever happened, it had been happening since then, and would most likely keep on happening until you either die or forget about me permanently.
I know I cannot expect others to remember details the way I do. I am working on keeping that in mind, and I will keep working on that. I must admit though, that this does feel as something I could have expected her to remember. But since she did not, I must conclude that I am wrong, and that I need to adjust my expectations. I can do that, given a little time.
I do not blame you for forgetting me, but I blame her for forgetting about you forgetting me. That is somehow ironic, and a bit hypocritical of me. I will do better, I promise.
There is one more thing about this that is bothering me. Even once I make myself accept that JJ forgot about me confessing one of my greatest fears to her, even after I convince myself that it doesn’t mean that she does not care about me the way she professes to do. Even after all that, I wonder whether it is actually possible for her to not realize how likely it is that you some day in the not too distant future will forget me, or at least who I am to you. She is aware of your diagnosis, and at least roughly aware with the expected progression of your condition.
I must remind myself that failure to see the implications of particular sets of information is not a personal slight to me. The fact that I do without conscious thought does not mean that others do, or that they should.
All right, Mom, I think I have sorted through this sufficiently, at least for now, so will wrap this up and start on the letter that I will actually send you. I look forward to telling you how happy it made me that you were able to make the trip to the Grand Canyon.
All my love,
Spencer
P.S. Please don’t forget me yet. I don’t think I’m ready.