1

I close my eyes and I'm transported back to a memory.  Suddenly I'm 12 years old again, it is October 31, 1999, Halloween. I'm trick-or-treating for the last time- I was on the cusp of being too old but we figured I could pass one more year.  Kelsey and I went together, dressed as cheerleaders, going door to door collecting treats while discussing the things in our life that seemed so important at the time.  This Halloween was significant, because we grew up a little more on this day.  Today when we would finish out trick-or-treating we would find out that Kelsey's mom was getting divorced from Kelsey's Stepdad.  Kelsey never liked him much anyways, but it was hard nonetheless.  What was harder was hearing her Mom's reasoning- he was mean, he said hurtful things to her and sometimes he would hurt her physically.  We ached knowing that she had been in pain and we didn't even notice.  We had school the next morning, but Kelsey and I stayed up all night to talk about it.  I listened to her cry and we vowed that we would always be there for each other- neither of us would ever need to hurt the way that Kelsey's Mom had alone.

I close my eyes and it is October 2005. My heart is beating hard in my chest as I warm up for my next cross country race.  I love this sport, but each race is an embarrassment.  I don't understand why but over the last year I've lost my stamina and my speed- I'm just not very good anymore.  I get to the starting line and scan the crowd- my Dad isn't there yet.  I'm not upset about it- not at all.  My Dad is the only parent on my team that has come to every single race so he's allowed to miss one.  Some kids haven't ever had a parent show up- not even for the important races.  But my Dad came to them all, with a bottle of Gatorade and a turkey sandwich for afterwards.  He was the best Dad ever.  The gun goes off and I start running, on my second lap I see my Dad on the sidelines cheering with all his might, cooler in hand.  Cross Country Running is a bore to watch, but he came and took such an interest.  I never for a moment felt that I wasn't wholly and truly loved by my Father.

I close my eyes and it's a Sunday in the Summertime, probably around 1991- the exact date has been lost to time.  We're always late to church even though we live right next door.  I'm dressed and ready but all I need now is for my Mom to brush my hair.  I hated it when she did my hair, she wasn't gentle.  It hurt so badly and she would never acknowledge me when I told her so.  To be fair, my hair was a rotten mess- it still is.  It still hurts when I brush it myself.  It's so fine that every step I take jumbles it more and more until it's worked into a massive snarl.  This is all made worse by the dozen or so cowlicks spotted around my scalp and my noticeable lack of a part.  I can understand my Mom's frustration each time she had to do my hair- but I was young and it hurt.  This particular Sunday was worse than usual- she pulled and tugged on my hear and my scalp ached with each pass.  She always used this stiff boar bristle brush that scrapped my skin and made it feel like it was bleeding.  I cried aloud, "Mama it hurts!"  Eventually her patience wore out and she hit me, over and over she hit me that stiff brush.  I gasped and cried and felt real fear as I looked at my Mom, she was so angry.  I bolted across the yard and burst through the doors of church into my Father's arms screaming out loud that my Mom hit me.  He hushed me desperately and stowed me away in his office, promising that it was ok, but I needed to be quiet.  When I stopped crying and my eyes weren't red anymore I went to Sunday School- everything was ok. My Mom didn't come to church that day, but when I got home she was in bed weeping and nothing I could do would rouse her, she was nearly catatonic- but I was used to that.  You get used to a lot of things when you love a parent who suffers from depression.

I open my eyes and it is today. Back to present.  Time has been cruel and my life has taken an unforeseen turn.  Kelsey and I both suffer today- but we do it alone because our mutual suffering has torn us apart.  My Dad is in the same body- but he is a different man.  I can't convince him to call me on the phone, let alone support one of my endeavors.  My Mom.  I understand her better now, because I'm becoming her.  As I sat with my own daughter organizing her bookshelf last night, I heard the soft sound of a contented Christmas carol dancing into earshot- the sweet lyrics "from now on all troubles will be miles away" reminded me that my troubles can't be resolved.  As I start to break down I hear a tiny 3 year old voice in a panic, "What happened to Mommy!  What happened to Mommy!" Begging me to smile, over and over begging me to smile until she was hysterical herself.  "Mommy is hurting again!" she cried and ran to get her Dad who scooped me up and tried to bring me back but I was too deep by then.  The story of how I got here is a thousand of these memories.  How I will be resolve these troubles is still undetermined.

For the audio version:  https://soundcloud.com/estherbloom/memoir-part-1