It really bothers me that I can’t remember most of my childhood. In fact there seems to be some significant chunks missing. There are some things that I do remember but usually short snippets of things. Some are nasty and some are pleasant. But I am always straining my brain trying to remember. I often feel some memories are just slightly beyond my grasp. Almost remembering but not quite. Very frustrating.
I visit my mother often. And when I go see her I drive through this certain town. I lived there for a time as a young teen. This time period is one of my missing chunks of time. I have driven through the town for years but this summer I decided to stop and find the house I lived in. I was able to find it with the help of my mother. I went back later when I was alone and just sat in front of the house to see if I could remember anything. As hard as I tried to remember the only thing that came back to me was jumping into snow banks from the roof of the garage. In the end it was an exercise of futility. Maybe I need to ask my mother some questions but I’m not sure if I want to go there with her just yet.
Once in a while one of my siblings will talk about a piece of our shared past that they found disturbing. Even though I might not remember what they are talking about I will have a deep sense that what they are saying is right. Maybe I will just have to be content with that. But really I just want to remember. But then again maybe some things aren’t meant to be remembered. If I sound confused it’s probably because I am.