I’ve heard it said that you learn alot about your parents when you become parents yourself. When you have children you make a choice, to raise your child the way your parents raised you or raise them differently then you were raised. More often than not people say they dont want to treat their children like they were treated when they were children. As Caleb gets older I find myself asking less and less questions about my own childhood. I think there at first being a parent put too much stress on me to figure out what kind of parent I would be, and yes you think about these things when your child is still young enough to lay in your arms and enjoy it. You wonder how they will grow and how you will be as a parent.
I’ve always been unable to remember much about my childhood, there are distinct memories that I have, most of which are not happy ones. Today while visiting my brother we were talking about something and I said I dont remember. He didnt seem to understand why. I dont know myself, it furiates me that for complete years of my life I have no recollection at all of any events other than those told to me. It’s not that the things I try to remember happened when I was too young to remember, it’s just that I dont remember. If I try hard enough to focus on a certain event, I can remember it better, but the events or times I do remember I cant put in any sort of time order. I couldnt tell you how old I was or where I was for the most part. Yet there are times when I will be doing something or catch a fragrance in the air that causes me to sigh and I remember. Just like it was yesterday.
The day starts out overcast and dreary. I dont remember anything about what grade I was in but I know what school I was going to, or I think I do. I just remember being picked up early by my moms friend and taken to a house. An empty house. It started to rain on the way to the house. Mom was there. My brother was not, that or I dont remember him being til later on. All I remember is a big empty house and a box of pizza laying open on the living room floor. I only remember how the rooms looked after we moved in, I cant picture the walls or the space empty, but I know it was empty, aside from the open pizza box. It was good pizza. Daddy wont be living here with us is what she told us…….it’s another dreary gray day, filled with drizzles and dark clouds. Instead of school, I sit at work. I take a break. I make a few calls, I make the call. He’s moving out, we are separting, she says. In disbelief I ask how she is, older and wiser now than I was back then. Now I can comfort her when before she had to comfort me. I cant leave work early, like I left school early that day so many years ago. I cant go be with her and be there for her like she needs, like she needed all those years ago too. Hours later I begin my drive home. It’s still gray and dreary. Then it happens, the rain drops start to hit the windshield , slowly at first then faster. Just as slowly then as quickly the tears fall. I remember sitting in that car, I must have been 5 or 6 being driven to my new home, yet I didnt know it yet, I distinctly remember the first raindrop hititng the windshield. That memory hit me like a load of bricks on my way home from work on Thursday as once again I watched the first raindrop strike my windshield and then the storm erupt, inside and out. My mother is the strongest woman I know, despite all of her weaknesses. Years ago she made the choice to give my brother and I the best life we could have, even though it meant not being a true “family” This week, she made the choice to give herself the best life she could have, she is separting from my step dad. Or so she is trying, if he lets her. It doesnt affect me, or not really. I mean I am adult, it wont affect where I live or what happens to me. But the way my heart broke when she told me was worse than any pain I’ve ever felt. She’s always worked hard for anything she had, she strives to make others happy, despite her own feelings. I was sad that she’s been spending all of this time suffering alone, she’s been unhappy. She’s maybe even been miserable. I was just a kid when my parents separated, and like I said theres not much I remember. But the thing I will never forget is the pain my own and everyone elses. The memories I have, like hearing mom cry early in the morning or late at night, hearing dad beat on the door to see us and being denied arent worth remembering and maybe thats why I try not to. Maybe thats why we, as a family, never disccuss it. Why does life have to be so hard? God help me be the friend that she can turn to now. Help me make up for not being understanding enough the first time she went through this. God help us all remember that just because the memories arent there and that no one talks about it doesnt mean that someones not hurting inside, cause deep down we’ve all got scars that are covered with deep bandages that we never take off. Help me take those bandages off and heal those old wounds so I can help others heal theirs.
Tonight I sit here thinking. My son sleeps peacefully while my husband and his brother are out spending time together. I’ve spent the day with my brother and his family. I was working on sorting out our things. Going through the packed boxes in our storage room so we can make that room into more useful space. I come across boxes that hold for me memories that I just want to keep boxed up. I opened a box of my childhood things, looked inside and took something out then decided it wasnt worth the pain tonight. I need to open that box and throw a lot of things out. But if I do that, wont that be taking away the only reminders I have left of my childhood memories, some memories that only get sparked by that object. I am missing so much about my life, memories and even facts about what truly happened during times of my life when I just dont know, that it scares me that if I get rid of these things, there will be no me. My childhood will be gone. I know it is gone, but it’s always been like it was never there to begin with. These things I hold onto, I keep for a reason, but anymore when I try to go back into that box and pull out those old chapters of my life it hurts too much. Too many regrets. Too many unkept promises. Too much emptiness. The box is full of empty memories. I’m tempted to throw the box out w/out sorting through it. I know this weekend my mom is at her house doing the same thing. She was going to clean out the things in her basement, I am sure she will stumble across alot more of my old stuff, and my brothers. Is she feeling the same emotions I feel as I go through these things? Is it worth it to really have memories that you dont want to remember? In our weaknesses we are strong, or so the saying goes, but how come it never feels that way?
