I have mixed emotions about Facebook’s memory notices, the posts where the social network site shows photos and events from users’ past. “On this day, nine years ago, here’s where you were, Amy Yeary Mangan!” exclaims Facebook with attached photos of the referenced day. Inevitably, when this notice pops up on my feed, I get an overwhelming sense of nostalgia combined with a whopping heart pang. I think I’m suffering from the Four Stages of This Can’t Be.
Stage One: Denial. Last week, Facebook’s memory moment showed a post I made four years ago when I was leaving my son on the footsteps of his college dorm for the first time. He graduates in three weeks and — oh my goodness — he barely resembles that big-eyed boy hugging his weepy mom. Now he’s all grown up ready for life after college with a job, a dream and a way-cool sense of self that has evolved beautifully and organically. But, seriously. What happened to the last four years? Poof.
Stage Two: Regret. I admit it. Some of these posts make me wonder “What if?” What if life could have been different for beloved friends and family members shown in my memory posts? Could life have been different for me?
Time waits for no one and neither does disappointment and heartache. Every single person in my posts has experienced both because this is the prickly/lovely dichotomy of being an earth dweller. We’ve all suffered devastating losses and painful lessons, a reminder how quickly life can go from blissful contentment to mind-numbing shock in a nanosecond, or, in this case, a Facebook feed.
It’s the old “if I knew then what I know now” reflection. Would I have done anything differently if I could? Sometimes the answer is yes. Yes, I would’ve made time for coffee with my friend who is no longer here. Yes, I would’ve gone on that trip I begged off for some big ole’ important reason I fail to remember. Knowing what I now know, would I have slowed down and just enjoyed the here and now, which, in the post, was then and there? Oh yeah.
Funny, but there isn’t a single post of me in front of my computer, an almost constant appendage.
Stage Three: Humbled. It’s not all morose. If you just went on the number of photos I’ve posted of celebrations, you’d surmise I’m one big partier. And, in a way, I guess I am, but not the pub-crawling kind (thankfully, social media didn’t exist when I was in college).
Most of my feeds are celebrating special moments — graduations, engagements, babies, birthdays, fundraisers and, of course, Betty Cakes. I really like Betty Cakes, the local café with deliciously addictive cakes. Lots of posts of my favorite Betty Cake. Judging by my frequent posts, I also like lemon drop martinis, especially with friends. And how great is that? The older I get, the more profoundly appreciative I am for these times, big, small and delicious.
Stage Four: Ready. Here’s what I know: It does me no good to get hung up on what I didn’t do or should have done or wish would have never happened. I’ve come to accept these posts as emotional instructive. When a one appears — “On this day, two years ago, Amy Yeary Mangan, here’s where you were!” — I lean back, soak in the photo and utter a quiet “Thank you” beneath my breath. Thank you for this memory. And for the reminder that it’s time for me to take a computer break.
Because on this day, I’ve got a life inviting me to make some new memories.
