A friend called to thank me. She said that when she is consumed by how hard things are now with her husband, or her child, I remind her of when it was better. Last month, last year, as she told me about a sweet interaction with her honey, I hold it in safe keeping and bring it to mind for her when other emotions elbow the memory out like a grabby shopper on Black Friday. 

Most of us suffer from short term amnesia. Embarrassingly short. I can tell my sister about how Ben was singing in the shower and then when he is sluggish about getting ready for the bus I let him have it with both barrels. I can name a list of qualities I cherish about John at marriage group and then by morning I am annoyed that he can't find his glasses.

One of the things I do to remind myself of what is good is the pictures on my wall and phone. Looking at them is like an instant trip to a place where smiles are plentiful. The mediocrity I am currently entrenched in fades with the brilliant joy of a photo of our family at the beach, or our son's wedding. It costs nothing, needs no batteries and apparently has an endless supply of contentment.

There is an organization called Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep that brings photographers to parents whose birth includes death. The pictures can be a tender way of remembering the brief time they had with their child.

Sometimes those memories are all we have to hold on to.