Mnemosyne was the mother of the Muses. People who know her well call her Memory. I wonder if she knew what her daughters would become and how each one would be differently gifted. Did Memory possess all Creativity, and her daughters simply sponsored their favorites of their mother’s talents?
Imagine the bedtime stories she told them or the songs she sang to lull them to sleep. Imagine her pointing to the stars and telling her tiny daughters to make a wish. Her jokes might have made the girls laugh till they cried, and all their teenage dramas must’ve been turned to lessons in her capable, gentle hands. The debates at the dinner table must’ve been epic.
I think of Memory helping her daughters write their term papers and take final exams. I see her watching them graduate again and again from grade schools, high schools, colleges and universities. Could she ever have predicted Facebook pictures taken at proms, weddings, christenings, and reunions? Is she missing in the photos of all the endings and beginnings because she’s the one behind the camera?
We talk of her tenacity and persistence. Poets, painters, writers and creators of all kinds dance with her daily, and she never quits working. She only encourages us, like any mom would, to write it down, paint it, sing it out loud and louder, share it so that others can remember too. And you can try, just like her daughters must have, to delay sleep “just a few more minutes…” Ask someone to tell you a story, and then listen carefully for Memory’s voice. Or better yet, tell one of yours, and know that there is someone who listens and wants with all her heart to hear what you have to say.