www.almahromic.com/ 2006/02/ 27_octavia_butler_memory.php
Death triggers memory, it is inevitable, and I found myself trying to think back on the details of my one and only - and now all the more treasured - encounter with Octavia Butler. I really was hoping that someday I'd have another chance to talk to her, because my memory of her is so full of warmth and light.
...
I can't remember phone numbers, or how to derive theorems from first principles, or the accurate structurure of DNA at the chemical level - but I can remember what I wore on my 16th birthday, how I felt when my first story was published, how it felt to have my heart broken, words of love, words of hurt, the laughter of family long dead, the dialogue from dozens of movies, the exact swells and quietudes of pieces of classical music which I can't identify by name or composer I only know I know them, remember them.
Memory can be that specific. It can be just a concept, too, and morph into other things - into regret, or nostalgia, or a grudge, or a dream...