Someone recently was talking with me about how their memories were more like snapshots in an album than an old movie. Rather than being a continuous flow of events, they were more like single moments captured within a hazy fog of her life. Looking back was surreal and they almost felt disconnected from those memories. Like they were not really in them, but were on the outside looking in. The below was something I wrote up based on that discussion and some other discussions with other friends. This is a descriptive work of fiction, based in reality.
(Note: I like to write random little things like this – so hopefully you enjoy them too. These are kind of like little snapshots of my brain)
It was not the first snapshot in the album of her childhood – in fact it was not even really from her childhood. She was forty five at the time. But in many ways she was still a child. It was as if she was never able to fully emotionally evolve like most children so there was a part of her still stuck in adolescence. A part of her who never truly rebelled or tested her boundaries. A part of her who never became independent from her mother and the judgments and emotional entanglements that came with that relationship.
So here she was at forty five, the year she thought was going to be amazing! She had finally decided to stop worrying about getting older and instead start looking forward to her future with excitement and anticipation. And in some ways it was great, at least in the long term. Just not in the ways she had imagined. But then, that is life – it happens to us as we make other plans.
At forty five she was finally emerging from her emotional coma which she had been stuck in for so many years. One that she had never really even realized she was in. She was finally opening her eyes and beginning to see the real world come into focus. She was starting to see the emotional chains that had been stunting her for so long.
And all it took was the decline and death of her father.