To Comfort (2013)

* I wrote this while I was grieving the loss of my father. I have updated it a bit, but it's true to the original. At the time I was processing memories of my childhood, my father (who left when I was about 10) and trying to create a new narrative around my self worth. It helped enormously.

I wish I could say that I can remember every moment of my childhood. Sometimes I wonder if things really happened or if my mind created a world where the sun was always bright and everyone was happy. I like to think that some of it is real. There are many small memories I hold on too that come in to mind every so often, usually when I need them the most. These memories remind me that there was a time where life was simple and I had a family that seemed unbreakable.

My childhood was comprised of play and unconditional love. My parents were always busy, but never too busy to stop and give love when possible. I have an early memory that pops into my brain quite often. I was about 5 or 6, years before things started falling apart. Our kitchen was very narrow and at times both my mom and dad would be there working back to back, one cooking and one doing the dishes. I remember walking up to my mother asking to be held. Mom gently picked me up and held me in her arms. My father turned around and at the same time they wrapped their arms around me and kissed my cheeks at the same time. The memory has this warm golden glow around it, it's so dynamic and alive with love.

Before I was put down, I asked my parents, “will you be together forever?” I don’t remember the response I just remember getting one more hug and kiss, being put down, and running off to play. It's interesting, because I don't remember words, but I do remember feelings. I remember a feeling of discomfort... of awkwardness. My little mind picked up on something and held on to it or maybe my experiences since then have tagged a new emotion to this moment. Who knows?

I had a very active imagination (I guess I still do). I would always sense ghosts in the house, and would often be paralyzed with fear in bed, unable to escape. I would often have panic attacks in the middle of the night. My mind would race and I would start screaming. I remember one time, running through my house in a panic thinking I was about to die or something was haunting me. My mother would often be in our living room watching a show alone on the couch. Mom would scoop me up and wrap me in her arms. 

“I don’t want to die,” I’d say, nuzzled up close to her warm chest. 

“You’re not dyeing and won't for a long time,” Mom would say in a quieted tone.

She’d slowly start to rock me back and forth until my breathing matched hers, slow and rhythmic. I would listen to the sound of her heart and feel the warmth of her body. I felt tucked away in my own safe haven. Rubbing my back she’d stand up with me in her arms and carry me back to bed. To this day when panic sets in (which happens more than I'd like to admit) I try to replicate that warmth and love on my own, wrapping myself up in a blanket and turning off the lights. The panic usually subsides but I end up looking like some weirdo sitting in the dark, a blanket over my head.

I think memories are there to remind us that life changes. Sometimes it's good and sometimes, not so great. We can look back and see how life ebbs and flows. Happy memories of my father remind me that he loved me throughout everything. They remind me that it's not all about me. They remind me that my childhood was good and I know that I was fortunate. They teach me how to love and how to love better. They tell me that life will always be full of change and I don't have much control over things. Although our family changed and our world collapsed a little, I wouldn’t change anything. The life I have had has made me who I am today, and I like me. Be well my friends.