Worth Remembering: Part One

Like You Don’t Even Exist

That’s what I wanted it to feel like...a clean slate, a digital erasure.

I didn’t mean to.

I swear it was an accident.

I never look at our old photos or videos anymore.

I didn't read old texts.

I deleted most of them. (I thought.)

There’s no more evidence that we ever loved each other,

no texts where he’s saying he misses me or calling me “baby.”

No pictures of us cuddling or videos of us dancing.

Leave no trace behind.

His Guitar

Once again, I force my poor sister to take pictures of me on my birthday. I mean, I did put on a lip stain and curl my hair. It’s the least she can do.

Once again, she “clicks until she gets the shot,” which leaves my photo gallery with over a thousand new pictures and my Home Screen warning me that my storage is full.

I go through all the new photos, deleting the duplicates and the ones I don’t like. Then I decide to check out my videos and delete some of them.

Hmmm… screen recordings? Oh, score! There has got to be a ton of these I can get rid of.

“Let’s see,” I mutter as my fingers scroll upward past funny TikTok drafts I never posted and recipes I’ve never tried cooking.

“Oh.”

Me.

There it is. The evidence. The first screen recording all the way at the top is a video of myself and my ex-husband. It must have been around Christmas time because I can see the tree lit behind us, our first real home with our son. It was a tiny two-bedroom with a kitchen the size of a closet and spiders in the doorway.

I loved that place.

I know I shouldn’t, but I take a deep breath and click the thumbnail. Play.

He’s playing his guitar, and I’m singing. We must have recorded this song for church, maybe a virtual Christmas Eve service?

I’ve enjoyed singing for as long as I can remember. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you: if the room is quiet, I’m probably filling it with whatever Taylor Swift song is stuck in my head. I don’t even realize I’m doing it most of the time...much to the dismay of my friends and family, who definitely notice it.

I always liked singing, but I didn’t think I was good at it. Not really. Not until him. He encouraged me to try harder, sing louder, be confident.

I loved singing with him.

I don’t sing much anymore. At least, not on purpose. Occasionally, someone will walk by my office while my headphones are in and I’m humming along.

“Wow, Amber, that sounds good! Are you a singer?” They ask.

“Not anymore.”

Him.

I study the video more. My eyes move from myself to him. Hmm. When was the last time I really looked at him? He used to play his guitar and do this little hunch thing, rocking back and forth as he played. I always found that kind of cute.

Hmm. I loved him, didn’t I?

Look at his smile. Look at his eyes. Look at his hands, so familiar, so forgotten. I wonder if he still hunches forward like that and moves back and forth when he plays.

Unlike me, he still sings.

Us.

I watch the video again.

Hmm. I miss that Christmas tree. I threw it away recently. It was time. It was the right thing to do. But still, it was a lovely tree. A tree worth having. A tree worth remembering, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it all worth something? Wasn’t it all worth remembering?

Wasn’t I worth something?

Am I worth remembering? I mean…the tree.

I wonder if he ever thinks about the tree...the good parts. The lights and ornaments that made it so striking, so worth having.

I don’t think he does. And I think that’s okay.

I stare at my phone again. We looked so comfortable together. So safe.

I wonder if I’ll ever feel safe again.

The more I watch this video, the more confused I become. I don’t remember this life as vividly as I once did. One day, will I remember it at all? If I don’t, will that kill me or set me free?

It Was a Mistake

I didn’t mean to watch it. The pain is duller now. So much duller. But still, I can feel a tear sliding down my cheek.

Scars are interesting things, aren’t they? You’d think they make us appear weak, but they actually make us look tough, strong.

I don’t want the scar to go away completely.

So as I stare at the video and my finger hovers over the delete icon, I choose to keep it.

I think a small part of me will always choose to keep it. Just a tiny bit.

For me. For him. For my son.

For the life I had, for the life I wanted, for the life I won’t ever get back.

And I think that’s okay.

Maybe keeping it doesn’t mean I’m not healing.

Maybe it just means I remember.

So he may forget if he'd like. I will choose to remember for both of us.