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Memory is funny. It's something that is based, maybe, on facts or events but that often has very little to do with what literally happened. More so, I think, it is about experience of an event or even a perception of an experience of the thing that 'happened'.
Our brains are pretty amazing.
I was talking to Noah (now 2 years and 2 months old) the other day and asked him if he remembered something we did last month. He thought about it for a moment, his eyes moved up and to the side (the way they do when we're trying to remember), and said that yes, he did remember that thing we did.
This pleased me to no end because when I first came back from Haiti he seemed a little unsure of his past experiences of being with me. I left when he was 1.5 yrs and returned when he was 2. Totally normal and expected, but doesn't make an aunt feel great. Now, just a few weeks later, we have shared times together and played together enough that I'm an active part of his memories. Our relationship is growing again with our shared experiences.
This thinking back and remembering that he did in order to find me in those imprints in his lovely brain also touched me emotionally. Maybe it sounds goofy, but I now have a memory of him remembering me and that memory is full of my feelings of joy and affection and connection to him. I love that.
I think that how we remember each other and ourselves is a very interesting thing. Imagine if you only had factual memories. If you couldn't connect emotions with events or people or with yourself - How would that colour your memory? Your experience of living? 
Some people do live life that way - productive important rich lives - but that's not me.
My life is coloured by emotion. Like brightly coloured threads running everywhere, woven together, connected and related but also separate that tell the story of thirty five years of experiences. Thirty five years of relationships. Thirty five years of colour. Thirty five years of life.