Memory Flash

There are these moments where I catch myself forgetting I have a mother. Data files of her image, her voice, her smell, her clothing, the age spots on her hands, the feeling of her skin, the texture of her hair, and her various gazes, both harsh and soft, caring and cruel, relaxed and tense--remain hidden in the recesses of my brain. I have tried so hard to keep her out of my daily consciousness. But then, out of the blue, one of the data files will open in front of me and like a film screen, pieces of her will project on the walls all around me. And that is when it happens. That is when I realize that I spend most days in denial of her existence, only to be reminded in quick, unexpected, bolts of lightening.