A Journey of Memories: Unveiling the Past

Close your eyes, don’t speak, just think and listen. The beautiful dark-haired girl smiled at me and said, "Let’s go on a journey together."

“What is the first memory you can think of?” her words floated over me, hauntingly. “Oh well…” I started to say, but was cut short when she snapped, “I said DON’T speak!” I shifted uncomfortably in my chair and looked at her sheepishly. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Don’t apologize to me, apologize to yourself. Do you want to do this or not?” She looked at me quizzically. “No! YES! Yes I do. Sorry!” I laid back and closed my eyes.

I was born in a very small town in rural Maine. It was beautiful in the summer, cold in the winter, and quiet all the time. Everyone knew one another and had no problem minding their own business. I was the first-born of five kids. My parents eventually had four girls and my mother later had a son with another man. We lived in an apartment when I was born, but I had no memory of that. My first memory was when we lived in the farmhouse.

My younger sister was born just eleven months after I was, but I don't remember her being born. I remember our playroom. The farmhouse we lived in was very large and had enough rooms that we could have our own playroom separate from our bedrooms. We had everything two little girls could ever want in there. My earliest memory was of my father. He was playing with us but he had to go to work. I was still young enough to take naps. My mom said it was time for a nap, but I knew that meant Daddy would leave. I threw a giant fit and cried so hard I could not breathe. My dad brought Oreo cookies up to my room and let me eat them in bed. My little sister was too young for cookies, so it was just for me.

I chuckled a little at the memory and then heard,“Good memories.” I nodded softly. I wanted to reach deeper into that day and remember more of the details but the harder I tried to grasp them, the cloudier they became. I frowned in disappointment. “Yes,” she sang in a whispered voice, “the good ones are always the most elusive.”

“What is the first memory you wish you could forget?” she breathed the question out in an eerie tone. How did she make her voice sound like that? I thought about peeking just to see if she was using a device to change her voice, but I didn’t want to risk being caught.

My grandmother was my rock. When my parents divorced, she was the one I could confide in. When my mother abandoned us kids and left to live with a man in another state, she was the one who dried my tears. When my father ran to the arms of another woman who did not want his children, my grandmother was the one who calmed my anger. I loved her more than anyone in my life. We were sitting in the doctor’s office waiting for me to be seen when she mentioned her stomach aches. I told her she should get it checked out. I told her she needed to take care of herself and not just everyone else. That was my grandmother – always worried about everyone but herself. I am just like her.

Later she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Later she would have chemo treatments. Later she would be hospitalized and need surgeries. Later she would have a stroke that left her unable to communicate with us. Later they would pump her full of morphine and kill her slowly. I wish I could forget that night. Watching her eyes plead with everyone around her, “Please make it stop.” She had been there for each and every one of us, but where were we now?

A tear rolled down my cheek. "Hmm, not such a great memory that one huh?" The girl asked with compassion dripping in her voice. I shook my head and took a shaky breath in. A moment passed, then two filled with silence. She allowed me to feel the pain of my memory as I pushed it back into its box in my brain. “Ready to continue?” she asked. I nodded, hesitant about what might come next. “Good then…” she breathed airily.

What memory do you most regret?