I have a door at home that hides a secret—not because it closes off a room; it usually stands open, its back pressed against a wall.
One day I shared this secret with a friend who was mourning the loss of her daughter. She was so touched by the idea that she decided to create a Memory Door in her own home.
The hidden side of my door is covered with colored Post-it notes for a daily ritual. On each one is the name of someone—or something—that once mattered deeply in my life and is now gone. There are many, as you might expect at my age, and the collection grows. Some bear the names of family members, friends, and beloved pets. Others commemorate wild animals I knew, old trees that fell, and landscapes lost to development. Their stories are different, but they share one thing in common: they have passed from my life.
The door is more than a private memorial. Each morning, I choose a note, saying, “This is your day.” Then, in the pauses between the day’s activities, I let my thoughts return to that person, creature, or place. With so many losses, memories inevitably fade, but I like to think that as long as someone remembers, they have not entirely gone.
My friend urged me to leave the door open so that others could see it. In our house that would make little difference, as there are only two of us. By writing about it here, however, I am opening the Memory Door to a wider circle. Perhaps someone else will be inspired to create one of their own.