Lost Time

T he first story I shared here was of all the walks I took during the winter and spring after my son’s death. I remember those walks and everything that I saw. Last month my husband and my kids were talking about Christmas, the birthday party I had given my son in February, about my sister and brother in law staying here for two weeks during the spring. As I smiled and laughed with them, a feeling I can’t describe came over me, the hair stood up on the back of my neck. I realized that I didn’t have a single memory of any of these things. Not one. Later I explained this to my husband and asked him to tell me about those days I’d lost. I’d planned and shopped. I decorated and cooked. I invited and entertained. He told me I’d taken pictures, hadn’t I seen them? No. I went through my photo files and found all of them. It seemed so surreal looking at the photos that…I…had taken. There were also pictures of me, taken by someone else. Images of me with my kids, with my mom and my family. I’m laughing and mugging at the camera. I’m well groomed, well dressed and in the Christmas photos wearing a small broach that I don’t recognize. *This is the point where I stop to tell you that this doesn’t scare me. I don’t think I’m crazy, I didn’t have a nervous breakdown and I wasn’t loaded. Disassociation was my mind’s way of protecting me, until I was stronger, from the single most horrifying and traumatic event in my life. And honey, THAT’S sayin’ somethin’!* I know this logically but I will tell you my inner truth, what I see when I think of these lost and forgotten days.* I see…my original self, curled up asleep, in a quiet room. That part of me that holds the childlike wonder of the world. The self that still believes in the magical and mysterious. The person who holds onto truth and innocence. My Pandora self that always believes in hope. I see…my mother self, the part of me that didn’t exist until I had children of my own, come into the room. She pulls up the blankets and softly touches the child’s forehead. She shuts the blinds and satisfied, closes the door behind her. She plans and cooks and cleans. She takes care of the family traditions and the social obligations. She lets the child rest and only awakens her when it’s time to go out and play with the puppy. Time to walk in the peace and the beauty of the world. Time to let the mind breath in the sun and the fragrant, wildflower air. Soon the time comes when the child, the original self, begins to heal and stirs on her own. She is ready to, once again, take the mother’s hand and walk with her…together, through Life.