I remember Mommy coming into the room.
I don't remember where I was. It was probably at my grandmother's house, but that detail is lost to me forever. I remember Mommy coming into the room, and I remember being oh so happy to see her. I probably peed a little, but I was allowed to, back then.
And then I saw it.
I'd reached my arms up as high as they would reach, and I'd jumped with my little legs to reach even higher, and I'd yelled one of the only words I knew at the time.
"Mommy! Mommy!"
So Mommy would see me, so she would hear me, so she would pick me up like she always had before. So my world would be complete again.
But she didn't pick me up. Her arms were full.
She was carrying it.
That is my earliest memory.
It turned out to be my sister Dina, and I was 21 months old.
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I remember playing with a girl. She had long dark hair. We sat on the floor between the kitchen and the living room, and we played.
I remember the house, and I remember the girl. It was probably my cousin Terri, but I can never know for sure.
That memory is so strong in my mind. I couldn't have been more than 3 years old.
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Dad came and woke me up, and carried me to Dina's room. Then he put me down and picked Dina up. The three of us - how odd that I don't remember Mom being there - went into the living room.
On the TV, I watched grainy footage of white-suited men bouncing around on a white plain.
I wondered why Dad had tears in his eyes.
I was 4 and a half years old.
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I'd walk to kindergarten, and my long shadow would lead me down the road. Then, when I'd walk back home, the shadow would be short and stocky, and it would chase me all the way home.
I asked Mom why my shadow was so different when I came home, and she said she didn't know.
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I was showing my friend Kelly how fast I could run with my new shoes. I ran through a glass door.
Dad carried me, both of us covered in blood, and took me to the doctor. I got 81 stitches, and I still have scars. I remember being afraid that the doctor was going to cut off my nose. It had been hurt badly.
I was 5 years old.
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I'm not sure what the point of this entry was.
Maybe it's just to change the damn subject.
I didn't know you remembered Mom bringing me home. I bet you were pissed. I certainly remember you running through the glass door. Mom made me stay in their room and I remember something about a lot of blood. I remember sitting in their dark room on the bed thinking you had died. It's odd I don't remember you coming home with all of those stitches. I wish I enjoyed writing more. I would love to put down on paper all of my early memories. I have so many memories of Lanesville and playing with army men and cars on the wooden floors with you. I remember snuggleing up on the couch in the mornings with Mom and watching the Young and the Restless. You were probably crouched in a corner somewhere glaring at us.(That was probably when you were walking to school with your shadow.)Do you remember that huge glass bottle in the kitchen and when Dad would come home from work we would get all of his change and drop it in? I thought we were rich! Life was good...
posted by: Dina | March 18, 2010 8:35 AM