The Hunger of Memory

This is what Ken's blog will ultimately be about, especially when considering he was the repository of all that could be humanly remembered within our family. I was not surprised at all when he told me how he could remember and describe is perfect detail the apartment that he lived in in Rockville Centre before I was born, all before the age of 2 years and 9 months.
With Ken was lost a treasure trove of detail I can never hope to recall, even of my own life, though some will return in "dribs and drabs" as he would say. I have no doubt Ken could have told me everything else we did in Manhattan the day he took that photo of me on what was then the RCA building.
His memory cut both ways, as he remembered everything, but could forget nothing.
Without exaggeration, Ken could easily recall any time in his life in detail within a two week time frame, usually with a level of detail that was frightening. All you had to do was ask, "Ken, what was going on during the third week of April, 19xx (not to mention 20xx), and he would only have to pause for 5 to 10 seconds before you would get your response. Not just about himself, but about all kinds of news at that time, including baseball scores.
Ken was fully aware of the double-edged sword his memory was. It took many years for him to find some way to stop dwelling on the negative memories and relish the best of times, and eventually he did. Yet, the damage had been done deep within, and he would insist on dwelling in it all, alone in his room, black curtains drawn.

Here comes March

Of course it's great when March arrives, as the weather finally starts to do an about face. St. Patrick's Day, now being marketed as St. Patrick's Season by greedy beer merchants, is just a few weeks away.
Perhaps in another 5 or 10 years....no... March 21st will never stop haunting me. Even the folks at Fullerton Funeral Home in Baldwin, NY, were dumbstruck when I told them Ken passed away on the same day as dad. I assumed that having run the funeral home for so many years, they had heard of such 'coincidences' before. It wasn't coincidence, though. Ken simply decided to die that day.
I forgot to tell them that he lived only 19 days longer than mom. (if you take away the last 2 weeks of her life when she was in a coma, then their life spans were identical) If I had reminded them of her, they would have remembered her, as her wake was at Fullerton, too. I had to chase the paparazzi off the steps of St. Christopher's next door.
Perhaps I was distracted by Mr. Fullerton's fate, as I sat down with him in December, but suddenly died before my second visit a few weeks later...
I wasn't totally surprised once Ken had survived to March. I actually expected it. He was a human time keeping machine, always keenly aware of its passing. He loved watches and time pieces of all kinds. Clocks and watches (mantle clocks, clock radios, diving watches) were given as Xmas gifts. He would often stare at the hands on his watch moving, feeling mystified, disturbed, perhaps terrified. He bought himself one of those Pierce Brosnan diving watches, being a huge 007 fan as well as a passionate diver. (Why do you think he majored in Russian and diving? Thunderball!)
It also made him very grateful for every day. After years of despising the winter months, he changed enough to advise me, "Never wish away time."
March 21st, the Vernal Equinox, the last day of winter, the first day of spring, sunrise at the North Pole, sunset at the South Pole...swiftly flow the years...
The season is already known as the cruelest since it "mixes memory with desire". How much more bittersweet now.