Random Access Memories

You never know how you'll be remembered.

I've long said that when all the people who've known and loved me get together at my wake, it's going to be a rude awakening for many of them.

People who think they know all about me are almost certainly going to be shocked/mortified/ surprised/confused/unclear when everyone starts talking to each other

If only someone could film the stories they'll tell about me.

This occurs to me now because tonight I went to see a documentary called "Stories We Tell" at Movieland about a woman who interviewed her family, friends and others who knew her mother, Diane, before she died.

Over the course of the film, we hear from her children of multiple relationships.

In one of my favorite aspects of the documentary, we see old home movies showing the mom as a whirling dervish fixed at the center of everything, always smiling, laughing and moving.

Because she did some local acting, we also hear from people she knew in the theater world.

There's even reenactment footage of significant events in the mother's life.

What gradually comes together is a story of a woman who paid an incredibly high (and public) price when her first marriage ended.

A woman who then met a fellow actor, fell in love with the character he was playing, married him and then had to make do when he turned out to be a quiet, introspective man very unlike the character he'd played.

A woman who later had an affair and carried that secret to her grave.

But the truth is elusive and every single person had a different set of memories, a different version of the history of this woman, Diane.

The film was poignantly narrated by the director's father, her mother's second husband, with a script he wrote.

It was moving to hear him read his memories of all those long-ago years and life events, only to have his director daughter stop him and make him redo a line.

I'm not sure my father would have the patience hers did.

Walking out still thinking about the family saga that had just unfolded inside, I knew instinctively that the story's honesty will haunt me for some time to come.

Then, boom, I was brought back to the here and now abruptly as soon as I stepped outside where a fireworks display was exploding over the Diamond, practically next door.

Standing there watching until it ended, I thought of all the pyrotechnic displays I'd watched over the years - at the beach, on the national mall, over a lake and all the people I'd watched them with.

None of whom probably remember those exploding evenings exactly as I do.

Because everyone has a story to tell.