Monday, March 15, 2010


Last year, I started following a television series called Ruby, maybe you've heard of it. Maybe you've watched it. At first it was just inspirational to watch someone attempt to save herself from herself. I thought she had such strength and determination, all while having that slightly annoying Southern ditsy-drama queen thing going for her. (This is not to be taken as an insult to my Southern friends, I have personally had experience with this type of Southern Belle, and this is not to be taken as a blanket statement.) I love Ruby. I love her courage, faith and sense of humor.

Ruby, like myself, is missing chunks of her life in her memory banks. There are many spans of years she can't remember a single thing that happened. So do I. I connected to her on that level until she decided to visit her old school. I didn't understand why. I didn't think it would help, and I was seriously judgemental about her reaction.

That was a year ago.
And an experience ago.

Last weekend, I pointed out my mom's old place to a friend. Then I decided to stop there. This place, seen previously as my mom's old home, became something more for me. I expected to point out the poor decision making that went into this home of theirs, this weird situation I found them in but what I didn't expect was to feel. You see, I never lived there. They moved to this property after I no longer lived at home. I visited. My daughter spent the night. Even I spent the night. It felt a lifetime ago, and in a sense, it was.

I didn't expect to be affected by this place. I thought I was detached from it. I thought that I had no feelings attached to it.
I was wrong.
This place brought back a lot of memories for me. A lot of pain. A lot of anguish. A lot of fear and loneliness I didn't even know I felt at that time. I know now, mostly because I am no longer in that place in my life and honestly I am no longer that girl.

This place suddenly felt less pathetic and more sad to me. Sad that my mother had valid hopes when she established that home. Sad that she is unable to see her repetitive actions. Sad that I keep expecting her to, even when I no longer think I have any expectations of her.

I suppose I get it now, Ruby. I get why you went back to that place. If it affected you in the way revisiting this place did for me, and the memories came flooding back, I can understand why you would want to keep doing it. Keep visiting these places. Keep pushing your memory to...well...remember; to release those memories to you again and trust that you can handle them.
I am curious now. I am curious about the dozens of other places we have lived. I am curious if I could get my memories back if I visited them.
I am curious, scared and exhilarated at the thought.

I get it, and I'm sorry for the judging.

I am there too.

1 comment:

Midstream said...

Love your honesty and strength, Dana. Keep pushing as you can, and resting when you need to, and being you. Love, Jill