Dawn of a New Era

My Story, My Own

I had to have been 3, perhaps maybe being 4 at the time when this all occurred. Trauma had left me stumbled upon my own memories, a staple memory forgotten and lost in time. I am not sure how I could have forgotten, they say our memories are not a good recollective thing. But with great love, nurturing, and trust I have remembered all that had come to be.

As my mind dwelled on that day, well more specifically that night, I could not believe what was meant to be. Why was that day so detrimental to little ole me? Why was it so catastrophic to my soul? Of all days in my age of 3, maybe 4, why had this come to be a staple memory of great significance to me now?

I remember it so clearly, the course of the night went like so; my parents and I had just returned home from a late night out. I had been asleep, and as a child who knew the right twist and turns, I knew we had made it home. Immediately in my Spirit, or my subconscious if you will, I knew that if I were to sprint into action I might just get a good little ticket, a chance to be carried into our home.

I am not sure why there was a hefty weight upon my shoulders, preying down on me with this sudden urgency, but for little ole me it was a must. So before my parents could exit the car, I asked if they could carry me; there was more to the layers of sleepiness that took hold of me.

I remember only seeing the figure, the shadows and outline of their heads. They refused to turn around and acknowledge me, let alone answer my cry. For some peculiar reason, the response pinched my heart with a season of loneliness, but I am a child so of course I do not know what it is I am feeling.

Maybe they had not heard me? Shall I try again? The trial never came, they left me in the car before I could ask them again. Now the confinements of the dark and enclosed car began to suffocate me, but then again I am a child, I am not sure what any of this means?

I felt my tears swell and I began to cry. Now, I had to open the door myself and walk behind them all by myself. Well, maybe if I walk closer to them, and reach out in need as I had always done, they'd turn around to acknowledge me? My feet were so little, I could not keep up with their monstrous steps, every step closer was ten million steps back; my crying did not cease.

And then there were the stairs, oh the stairs I had come to love, but now hate. They taunted me, pushing me further past my limit. I was not quite sure how I made it past them, that in itself I can not remember. All I knew now, at this point, was that I wanted nothing, not anything more than my parents. I did not care to get picked up any longer. I just wanted my mother, I just wanted my father.

Who, or rather what were these shadows? What were these shadows that did not care about the cries that poured from every fiber of my being? They were evil, evil and senile beings that took my parents from me.

Where were they? My mother and father? Where had they gone too, in the darkness that swallowed me? They had left me all alone in my lonesome. What was a little girl like me to do in a world beyond my imagination and scope? Who was I to turn to?

I cried and I cried as I trudged behind them. If I had not possessed the hope that my parents would soon return I would have fell oh so long ago, and never would I have ever gotten up.

And as I recollect these thoughts, these memories, and piece them together in my mind there was one thing that I remembered that was of great significance. It was an odd little thing for me to do.

Why did I suddenly turn my gaze from these figures, look up, and stretch my arms to the stars above? Who was it that I had hoped would hear my cries?

Who was it I cried to?
Because it was to my parents no longer.