A Stitch In Time

There are times that I reflect back on my past and suddenly remember incidents that were locked away in my memory only to now come rushing back to the front. Most of them are appalling, but lately I have tried to remember something pleasant, funny or comforting. My therapist says that my mind will only allow me to remember what I can handle. There are the times I will remember something..but only for a short while. If I don't write it down, time passes and then it is gone forever, retreating back into the closet. I don't remember much of junior high or high school, only brief flashes here and there, and I cannot tell you if the memories are from a single year or bits and pieces from several. I do know that I was for the most part always frightened, always nervous, and never sure of what would happen from one moment to the next. I lived in a state of anxiety so high as to rival a terror alert. I don't know how I learned anything or even finished high school.


People that really know me ask me why I didn't run away, or at the very least defend myself from the attacks that came fierce and often. I cannot answer that. I only knew that I wanted to live long enough to enjoy life, and to one day laugh out loud and really mean it.



I would like to say that there was someone who understood, someone who was wiliing to stand up and say what was being done to me was wrong and had to stop, that I was only a child. But there wasn't. I am sure if my father had been there more often than he was, he would have put a stop to it. Although he was kind, he was also, I am sad to say, weak. He had no stomach for conflict.

I have begun to think of him more often. It is painful because I miss him so. I would have liked for him to have really gotten to know my husband, and to have know his only granddaughter. I think they would have enjoyed each other's company, and I do believe quite earnestly, that he would have spoiled her just this side of rotten.


I have learned that a moment is more than a moment. It is life at it's fullest in little bursts of fleeting sweetness. It is what you make it. Still.



Andi