This short piece of nonfiction is what the title suggests, but also so much more. Abigail Thomas is older now than she once was. She’s in her 70s, still publishing, still writing memoirs. She even, if you read the little bio at the end of this piece, has 4 children and 12 grandkids. It is, perhaps, no surprise that she has written this piece. My father, who is also in his 70s now, is less forgetful than he once was, but is also forgetful.
But this piece is about the feeling of remembrance as much as it is about the act of forgetting. It’s about how to remember as we grow, about what we’re forgetting. At first, it’s about the small stuff. The real small stuff. Like keys, which you won’t forget for long if you lock your door. But then there’s a small section at the end of the piece that asks the question of what do we want to come back as. And this too is a rememberance, of sorts. A remembrance of what Thomas believes fish are or aren’t. A remembrance of the physical world, rather than intangible thoughts. I like this piece because it touches on issues I often think about as well. (B)