“There is no refuge from memory and remorse in this world. The spirits of our foolish deeds haunt us, with or without repentance.” -Gilbert Parker
When I reach into my subconscious to pull out a moment to share with you, all that I can seem to grab are ones filled with loss. Sucky, right?
December, 2004. I was eleven years old and in the sixth grade. I do believe that is when things, my foundation, started to crumble. I was in my first play that year. I was the third elf. I had about ten lines. I was excited beyond belief. Growing up I had always managed to get out of any and every program/play/production my school put on. I was that kid that always got my Mom to write me a note or pull me out of class. I don’t think it was stage fright or anything of that nature. I just really didn’t want to do it. So anyway. My Uncle was in the hospital, ICU. He was one of the most amazing people I had ever been around. He was sort of the grandfather figure in my life. He was technically my third cousin. We called him Uncle George. My Nannie’s age. Such a great person. So. He spent almost a month in ICU. My family spent everyday at Baylor. Playing the waiting game, one I’m all to familiar with these days. It was strange actually, his doctor was my first grade teacher’s brother. Small world I guess. Things were decided, they were going to remove the ventilator. The night of my debut as an elf. My parent’s had to be at the hospital, so Bri and her best friend came to watch me. If I do say so myself, and I do, I was the best third elf Lucille Nash Intermediate had ever seen. But, during the play, my uncle died. One of the most prominent male figures in my life at the time. I think that is when it all started. When I started to shut myself down, distance myself. What should have been a happy memory became a terrible reminder that people leave. The ones you need can’t and won’t always be there. December 14, 2004. I always hated Tuesdays.
Peace
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