The Anxiety of Being Forgotten and Forgetting

home insemination Kit

“Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me—any version of my name works,” I replied.

“You have to be one or the other!” she pressed. “How do your parents say it?”

I opened my mouth to respond, only to find myself frozen in disbelief. I couldn’t recall.

It still catches me off guard how long it’s been since my mom passed away—15 years now. It feels surreal that the years without her are beginning to match the years I spent with her. My dad’s been gone for nearly five years, and that feels impossible too.

They say time dulls the pain of loss, and to some extent, I see their point. The intense grief of those initial days gradually transforms into a more manageable numbness. Nowadays, when I dream of my parents—which happens surprisingly often—I wake up not in tears but feeling grateful, as if they visited me from beyond the veil, offering a cozy “hello.”

However, there’s a flip side to this: the unsettling realization that, over time, you start to forget things you desperately wish to hold onto. Like how my parents pronounced my name.

I still vividly recall many things about my mom and dad: the way my mother smelled after a bath or the aroma of my dad’s leather jacket mingled with the remnants of his evening smoke. I can easily hear my dad’s hearty laugh, his thunderous sneeze, and the way he called the dog. My mother’s voice rings in my ears too, especially when she sang her favorite songs or said “I love you” before hanging up the phone.

But the way they said my name? That memory is elusive, just out of reach, like a shape in a mist. It seems my mind has categorized this detail as less important than the happenings of my current life.

There’s a scene in the film Beaches where Barbara Hershey’s character, Hilary, is frantically searching through a box of photos. “I can’t remember my mother’s hands!” she cries, desperate. Eventually, Bette Midler’s character, C.C., helps her find a photo showing her mom’s hands, and Hilary visibly relaxes. Even as a teenager—when I watched that movie on repeat—I understood the underlying fear: Hilary was terrified that her daughter would forget her, just as she was starting to forget her own mother, piece by piece.

The worry of forgetting is intricately linked to the anxiety of being forgotten.

A friend once shared a rather somber yet poignant quote from graffiti artist Banksy. It goes something like this: you die twice—first when you stop breathing, and the second time when your name is spoken for the last time.

Then I thought, perhaps there’s a third moment: when the people who brought you into existence—your creators, nurturers, and name-givers—are both gone. Who will recall my first words, my first steps, or my toddler antics now that my parents are no longer around? May-gen or Meh-gan. How do I truly identify? Only they could have told me for sure.

Or could they? My older siblings, aunts, uncles, grandma, and stepmom—they are all here to help fill in the gaps. Maybe, in losing my parents early, I learned a harsh lesson: while my parents gave me life and a name, what I do with it is ultimately up to me.

So how did I respond to my inquisitive friend? After a brief moment of thought, I remembered how my siblings, grandma, and even my stepmom say my name. I contemplated my preferred version and settled on an answer.

“May-gen,” I stated confidently.

I’m pretty sure that’s how my parents pronounced it too. It would be nice if the last person to say my name gets it right, but if they don’t? I still cherish the scent of my dad’s coat and the memory of my mom singing “Taxi.” Plus, I have family and friends who will always remember me, even if some details fade. They are the ones who continue to say my name today—even if they don’t always pronounce it correctly.

For similar stories on family and connection, check out this other post on home insemination kit, and if you’re looking for ways to enhance your fertility, this site offers great advice. Also, CCRM IVF is an excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination.

In summary, the feelings of forgetting and being forgotten are universal fears that many grapple with. Our memories may fade, but the love we share with family and friends continues to echo through time.