Childhood Experiences and Memories
I spent Christmas this year in Arizona and got to spend time with my beautiful niece Lilly. My time with her is always way too short and I love her to pieces. I sleep in her room when I am there and on Christmas night, I was looking at some pictures of her that I found on her dresser and all of a sudden, this deep sadness washed over me and I found myself crying for the next hour or so. Lilly is 3 years old - so full of innocence, energy, personality, and is growing up so much every day and yet still loves to have someone cuddle with her. Her world consists of her mommy and daddy, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, her friends at school and each day is a brand new adventure. As I looked at those pictures and thought about my time with her over the past few days, I couldn't help but think that I was 3 years old when my abuse started. I look at Lilly, at ALL children, and can't even conceive of hurting them in that way. The thought never even crosses my mind. I can't comprehend how an adult can look at that little child, that little body, and see it in any kind of sexual nature. It's a sickness that I can't even wrap my mind around. My heart hurts for the children who endure such perversions forced up on their bodies and for the terror and shame that enter their worlds with that first touch.
I also found myself thinking of my students at school. It was in the summer before 2nd grade when we moved to Green River and the abuse began to happen almost daily. I look at the 7 students I spend each day with and wonder if I would know if they were going through such an experience in their own lives. Did anyone see any signs of abuse in my own life at that age? I've always prayed that God would open my eyes to any such signs in any of the students at school and I have had 'gut' feelings about a couple of older students but sometimes I wonder if I am missing any signs right under my nose each day? I pray I will always do what is right by the little ones God puts in my care at school.
Part of my tears also had to do with the flood of memories that await me each time I go to Arizona. I spent many summers there visiting my mom and while there was a lot of fun and good times, it's hard seeing those experiences through adult eyes. Now I know the times were so fun and happy because my mom had the advantage of only having to financially, physically, and emotionally be a mom for those few months of a year and so it was easy to be a 'fun mom.' Along with all the 'good' memories from those times as a child, there were also the very painful and sad memories of having to say good-bye. Even today as an adult, good-byes of any kind are enough to make me cry and I think that comes from the emotional experience of having to go from one parent to another as a child. I would cry when I left my dad to visit my mom and I would cry even harder when I had to leave my mom to go back to my dad. I knew when I said good-bye to my dad that he would be there waiting for me when my visit with my mom was over. But when I said good-bye to my mom, I did so never knowing when I would see her again. About a week before I was to leave, I would wait until I had gone to bed and then lay there and cry myself to sleep at the thought of leaving. The day or two before I left, the crying would become pretty much constant. My appetite decreased, I couldn’t sleep very well, and I did whatever I could to try to soak up those last moments with her.
When the actual day to leave came, the tears would start the moment I opened my eyes that morning. The day, and eventual drive to the airport, would pass much too quickly and before I knew it, I would be standing at the gate listening to the airline attendant begin the boarding calls for my flight. No matter where I was seated on the plane, my mom would let me wait until the very last boarding call. Then I would wrap my arms around her and hold on as tight as I could while I sobbed. When I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer, I would give her one last wave and walk down the boarding ramp. I can remember that feeling of dread so clearly, of experiencing such a fierce battle between my head and my heart – my head telling my feet to put one in front of the other and keep walking while my heart told me to turn around and run back to her and never, ever leave her.
All of these thoughts and memories hit me with such force that evening that my heart literally felt broken. It amazes me that the experiences of my childhood can still evoke such strong and powerful emotions in my life as an adult. I'm learning that I can only take those experiences, learn from the good and the bad, and allow God to use them for His purpose.
I also found myself thinking of my students at school. It was in the summer before 2nd grade when we moved to Green River and the abuse began to happen almost daily. I look at the 7 students I spend each day with and wonder if I would know if they were going through such an experience in their own lives. Did anyone see any signs of abuse in my own life at that age? I've always prayed that God would open my eyes to any such signs in any of the students at school and I have had 'gut' feelings about a couple of older students but sometimes I wonder if I am missing any signs right under my nose each day? I pray I will always do what is right by the little ones God puts in my care at school.
Part of my tears also had to do with the flood of memories that await me each time I go to Arizona. I spent many summers there visiting my mom and while there was a lot of fun and good times, it's hard seeing those experiences through adult eyes. Now I know the times were so fun and happy because my mom had the advantage of only having to financially, physically, and emotionally be a mom for those few months of a year and so it was easy to be a 'fun mom.' Along with all the 'good' memories from those times as a child, there were also the very painful and sad memories of having to say good-bye. Even today as an adult, good-byes of any kind are enough to make me cry and I think that comes from the emotional experience of having to go from one parent to another as a child. I would cry when I left my dad to visit my mom and I would cry even harder when I had to leave my mom to go back to my dad. I knew when I said good-bye to my dad that he would be there waiting for me when my visit with my mom was over. But when I said good-bye to my mom, I did so never knowing when I would see her again. About a week before I was to leave, I would wait until I had gone to bed and then lay there and cry myself to sleep at the thought of leaving. The day or two before I left, the crying would become pretty much constant. My appetite decreased, I couldn’t sleep very well, and I did whatever I could to try to soak up those last moments with her.
When the actual day to leave came, the tears would start the moment I opened my eyes that morning. The day, and eventual drive to the airport, would pass much too quickly and before I knew it, I would be standing at the gate listening to the airline attendant begin the boarding calls for my flight. No matter where I was seated on the plane, my mom would let me wait until the very last boarding call. Then I would wrap my arms around her and hold on as tight as I could while I sobbed. When I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer, I would give her one last wave and walk down the boarding ramp. I can remember that feeling of dread so clearly, of experiencing such a fierce battle between my head and my heart – my head telling my feet to put one in front of the other and keep walking while my heart told me to turn around and run back to her and never, ever leave her.
All of these thoughts and memories hit me with such force that evening that my heart literally felt broken. It amazes me that the experiences of my childhood can still evoke such strong and powerful emotions in my life as an adult. I'm learning that I can only take those experiences, learn from the good and the bad, and allow God to use them for His purpose.
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