Joy in the Journey - These Are The Days
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Joy in the Journey column published by Graphic Publications and appearing in The Bargain Hunter and Wooster Weekly News
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Days like today, my memories seem to run through my mind like a slide show of photographs, one after another. Not always in sequential order. Flashes of good and bad times, joy and sorrow.
Days like today, my memories seem to run through my mind like a slide show of photographs, one after another. Not always in sequential order. Flashes of good and bad times, joy and sorrow.
These are the days when I feel sad and am not quite sure why. But if I slow down long enough to allow my mind to walk through the slide show, the picture becomes clear.
I was about seven years old, standing at the screen door in the front of our ranch house, looking out through the wire grid with tears streaming down my face. I was begging my dad to stay as he walked to the car with his suitcase in hand. I am not sure if he said anything to me at all, for the words and details are blurry for me.
I am sure his departure came after another argument between my parents. And its funny, but I don’t have any memories of their arguing, though I know they argued a lot. Its as if God protects me from those memories, but allows some of the sadness to shine through in my slide show memories.
My dad came back that time, as many times before, and many times after.
The next picture comes into focus. My mom sitting on my daisy bedspread with my sister and me. She said that we needed to pack our bags. We were moving in with my grandparents that night.
She talked about divorce and a better life for us, but all I knew was that I was losing my dad, and my life was forever changing in one night. I was about nine years old when we moved out of our red ranch house, a fourth grader, lost between two worlds of love and hate.
I remember living with grandma and grandpa, and how hard everyone worked to make that house a home for us. My bed was the red-flowered love seat that opened into a bed in the den.
My sister had the spare bedroom, and my mom slept on a mattress on the family room floor.
Always a mom. Always sacrificing for us.
Those were some of the saddest times in my life, and yet, I have some fond memories from those years as well. Spending time with grandma, walking down to the tennis courts to play.
Watching my grandma grow to love our pet guinea pigs, even though she thought hey looked like rats without tails. Sledding down the hill in her back yard knowing that she always had hot cocoa at the ready when we came in all soaking wet and chilled to the bone.
Sometimes the memories just come. Sometimes I invite them in, like an old friend, just so I can remember who I am and where I came from.
I am not unique. We have all loved and lost in one way or another. Been hurt by people we love or circumstances beyond our control. Those are the scars that never fully heal, the ones that linger in our hearts.
And some days, we play that slide show of memories just so we can remember.
I guess we have a choice. We can allow the past to pull us down or it can make us stronger. We can not change where we have been, but we can choose where we go form here.
And though the memories will always be there, I can choose the ending of the story. And maybe that’s what these days are all about.
I was about seven years old, standing at the screen door in the front of our ranch house, looking out through the wire grid with tears streaming down my face. I was begging my dad to stay as he walked to the car with his suitcase in hand. I am not sure if he said anything to me at all, for the words and details are blurry for me.
I am sure his departure came after another argument between my parents. And its funny, but I don’t have any memories of their arguing, though I know they argued a lot. Its as if God protects me from those memories, but allows some of the sadness to shine through in my slide show memories.
My dad came back that time, as many times before, and many times after.
The next picture comes into focus. My mom sitting on my daisy bedspread with my sister and me. She said that we needed to pack our bags. We were moving in with my grandparents that night.
She talked about divorce and a better life for us, but all I knew was that I was losing my dad, and my life was forever changing in one night. I was about nine years old when we moved out of our red ranch house, a fourth grader, lost between two worlds of love and hate.
I remember living with grandma and grandpa, and how hard everyone worked to make that house a home for us. My bed was the red-flowered love seat that opened into a bed in the den.
My sister had the spare bedroom, and my mom slept on a mattress on the family room floor.
Always a mom. Always sacrificing for us.
Those were some of the saddest times in my life, and yet, I have some fond memories from those years as well. Spending time with grandma, walking down to the tennis courts to play.
Watching my grandma grow to love our pet guinea pigs, even though she thought hey looked like rats without tails. Sledding down the hill in her back yard knowing that she always had hot cocoa at the ready when we came in all soaking wet and chilled to the bone.
Sometimes the memories just come. Sometimes I invite them in, like an old friend, just so I can remember who I am and where I came from.
I am not unique. We have all loved and lost in one way or another. Been hurt by people we love or circumstances beyond our control. Those are the scars that never fully heal, the ones that linger in our hearts.
And some days, we play that slide show of memories just so we can remember.
I guess we have a choice. We can allow the past to pull us down or it can make us stronger. We can not change where we have been, but we can choose where we go form here.
And though the memories will always be there, I can choose the ending of the story. And maybe that’s what these days are all about.
Posted by Trish Berg 5:00 AM
Labels: Graphic Publications Column, Joy in the Journey Column
God's blessings to you,
T