"Remember Me": A Reflection on Universes, Memory, and Family

Dr. Beverly Crusher (gates McFadden) in the Star Trek Next Generation episode "Remember Me".

---

A Notable Episode

I'm an unapologetic Star Trek enthusiast, particularly when it comes to anything crafted before the year 2000. While the original series holds a special place in my heart, it's Star Trek: The Next Generation (STNG) that truly captivates me. Though there might be a future blog post dedicated to this passion, today's narrative doesn't focus solely on Star Trek. Instead, it delves into a specific episode, #79 titled "Remember Me." Airing in October of 1990, this episode is notable not only for its content but also for marking the moment when STNG equaled the original Star Trek in episodes produced. Now, if you're not well-versed in Trek lore, bear with me for a moment.

"Remember Me" presents an intriguing scenario wherein the USS Enterprise's medical officer, Dr. Beverly Crusher, becomes ensnared within an alternate universe spawned from an errant engineering experiment. This alternate reality bears an uncanny resemblance to the familiar one, initially masking Beverly's entrapment. The plot thickens as crew members vanish inexplicably, leaving Beverly as the lone observer to this enigma. However, a twist unfolds: the remaining crew retains no memory of those who vanished, except for Dr. Crusher herself. Despite her attempts to communicate this perplexing reality to her closest companions, her efforts fall on puzzled ears. Time progresses, and all but Beverly vanish, leaving the alternate universe to shrink until only the ship's bridge and engineering deck endures. Dr. Crusher faces solitude, anticipating the inevitable moment when she, too, will fade into oblivion. But in a heartening turn, her son Wesley intervenes before the alternate reality collapses entirely, rescuing her from its grasp.

For those unacquainted with the Star Trek universe, here's a glimpse back to 1990 via a television commercial capturing the essence of this remarkable episode.

This blog post doesn't intend to offer a review of the episode, but it's worth noting that "Remember Me" is beautifully crafted and expertly performed. Interestingly, it's an episode I initially overlooked in my younger years, and it remained dormant in my memory until last week, when my mother no longer recognized me.
​
You see, my mother developed dementia a few years ago.

Mom's Shrinking Universe. 

At first, the signs were subtle, slipping past our family's notice. Her vocabulary gradually dwindled, and she often struggled to unearth the right words to convey her thoughts and emotions. Pronouns replaced names, and her short-term memory faltered, while her recollections of the distant past remained intact. Slowly, the ability to recognize faces faded, eventually giving way to a heartbreaking reality: she couldn't recognize even her own family. Paralleling Dr. Crusher's experience, my mother found herself trapped in a diminishing universe. Mom's reality fluctuates based on "good" and "bad" days, but over time, it consistently contracts. Deep within, she might vaguely sense her shrinking world, yet comprehending and articulating it remain elusive.

Loved ones gradually fade from her universe, replaced by unfamiliar faces. The town she's called home for 45 years becomes unrecognizable, despite remaining unchanged. Her universe narrows, leaving only her husband and her home. Fortunately, she still recognizes them—most of the time. She spends her days between her bedroom and the living room, watching the birds at the feeder or gesturing towards her parked car, dreaming of a drive she can no longer manage. Her grasp on my father, her anchor, is unyielding. The gruff man of my childhood memories has transformed into a gentle caretaker, patient and kind.

Yet, the shrinking universe encroaches even on this haven. She gazes at strangers' clothes in her own closet, bewildered by who put them there. On occasion, the universe expands slightly, and she might recognize me, if only for a fleeting moment. These instances are like welcome breezes in the midst of a scorching day—refreshing, yet transient.

In "Remember Me," Dr. Crusher deploys her intellect and skills to diagnose her predicament, while her son Wesley labors outside the alternate universe to save her. Similarly, my mom navigates her contracting universe, aware that something is amiss but powerless to halt it. Like her, we, her loved ones, stand powerless outside her shrinking reality. In 2023, our capabilities are impressive, but we're still unable to halt, reverse, or cure dementia.

Somewhere within my mother's mind, she stands on a personal bridge as her universe collapses around her. A day approaches when her husband and home will vanish from her awareness, and her universe will dissipate entirely. On that day, her voyage through this reality will conclude, though her physical shell may endure for years.

The Harsh Teacher.

The anger wells up within me—anger directed at God, especially. I love the Lord, but I still get angry at Him. And it seems, in understanding my frustration, God is patient. Perhaps someday, understanding will find me. I'm aware that my family's suffering and my mother's battle with dementia, isn't unique. Many walk this path, witnessing loved ones' personal universes evaporating-away daily. As these private realms shrink, our shared universe endures, a testament to resilience.

Suffering, though harsh, is a potent teacher. Whether we absorb its lessons rests with us. Suffering is indifferent. So, what can I glean from my mother's journey with dementia?

Keep your personal universe as big and as vibrant  as possible for as long as possible. Share it widely with others; and perhaps a fragment of you will reside in their universes. We're entrusted not to let those we cherish fade into oblivion. In our personal realms, and the universes of others, their memory should persist, passed down to those who follow.

We must remember. Always.