As our bodies replace our cells, one by one, we are all living a thought experiment. The Ship of Theseus (Theseus’s Paradox) asks whether a ship is still the same ship after all its planks have been replaced. In the seven years that have passed since Colin died, do any cells remain in my body that experienced the strangely strong grip of his soft little hand or remember his infectious laugh?
After that long (more or less), our cells have all been replaced, renewing and refreshing the very bits of our brains that hold the memories of the things we hold dear. Does this cycle change the ghosts that scamper through the mind’s eye?
Memory is an unreliable archivist. Only photos and videos anchor truth to our imagined past, though the most powerful reminiscences seem to live inside me. There is no separating him from me or his influence on who I am. A child may be the product of their parents, but a child also transforms their parents.
Continue reading Year Seven: The Ship of Theseus Sails Off into the Sunset