She still does.

March, 2009

Do you ever wonder if all we remember is what we’ve been verbally reminded of or what we’ve seen in old snapshots?
We take pictures of the happy moments in our lives. Shutters click, the flash goes off and we stop time, just for the blink of an eye. It is a moment of joy, something we want to hold onto . . . and remember. It is the kind of world we want to remember living in. It is what we wish every day of our lives would always hold and helps to create the picture that everyone wants . . . a happy life, a happy family, an incredible moment. It is only as we grow up that we realize not all memories are happy ones.
I’ve known that I want to write another "installment" in my Daddy/Family files. Then, when I try to settle on a story or memory, the floodgates open and I find myself struggling to narrow it down to just one. Here is my attempt to remember one of the snapshots I don't like. My Daddy was hurting!
I don’t know the year or how old I was. I’m not even sure of the time of day but I believe it was early morning, and that I was young and struggling to understand the sounds of my daddy in pain. Mama was doing her best to keep us quiet and out of the room. Maybe we were waiting for a babysitter to arrive so they could be on their way to the hospital or doctor, but we were instructed to be in our rooms, quiet. The stairway to our bedrooms was right near there and I believe we were getting ready to go to school. As I started to obey the directive to go upstairs, I caught a glimpse of my strong, capable and energetic daddy, looking totally helpless, in pain, lying in the living room on the pull out couch.
As I try to put myself back in the moment, I can remember my little girl mind asking the questions. What’s wrong? Can’t we stop this? I could not accept that my Mama couldn’t fix it. She was a nurse after all and had always “fixed” all of us numerous times. I felt scared, sad and helpless, my heart was breaking with his every sound, but I KNEW if only Mama would let me in there I could help him and I could make him feel better. I’m not sure what I thought I could do, I only knew that when I was near, he smiled and laughed.
Later we learned it was appendicitis. Daddy got better and our lives continued as usual. It was a scary painful time, but in the end…pretty uneventful. Today, as I look back I try to understand why it was so defining for me.
Very seldom do we take a photograph of something unpleasant, but sometimes they are the most remarkable. They serve as the memories/stories that make us aware. They help us discover important lessons. This one built empathy in my heart, a desire to help others and take away another’s pain, and a realization that when people get sick, they often get better.
Today, I see the shadow of a little girl dancing in and out of the weave of my life who still struggles to understand or accept that kind of pain or illness in the lives of those she loves . . .
A daughter who wants to help and make the pain go away . . .
She still wishes she could.
The one who could make him smile and laugh.
She still does.