Going Anyway

Away From My Past

Sunday, May 7

Today we were really busy, so tonight we finally got around to making a cell diagram for Ava's science class.

We didn't get started until after seven though, and I was tired by dinner time. Yay.

I was around while she was making it, but I wasn't going to do the project for her.

When she was almost done with the project when she randomly asked, "Why are we really moving? You and me both like it here."

She was right, and I leaned back in my chair, running a hand down my face. I don't think she was listening to me yesterday. "Ava, the schools are better up in Iowa. Everything is better there. We will be living in a house that has a bigger yard. I'm sure you're going to make great friends. It won't be as hot down there in the summer, and you can even build snowmen in the winter."

"Eh, but when you talk about moving, you get sad. Why?"

"I like it here. I have people who support me and love me. I'm ready to try something new though. I have you still."

"If you didn't have me, would you move?"

I thought about that question for a moment, and I shrugged. "I don't know. I think so."

"Why are you running from something you love? Yeah, I know it's not the nicest place in the world, but you always say it's about the people you're around, but—"

"There are a lot of crazy people in this town," I cut her off.

"I know, but why are we really moving?" Did my first answer not suffice? "Did you rob a bank, too? Are you running from the police?"

I know she was joking, but that kind of hurt. I have lived my whole life trying to avoid being like my mom and sister.

I faked a smile. "No." I paused. "I guess I just wanna have a new life, away from my past." This is also true.

She raised her eyebrows. "Why? And why don't you ever talk about your childhood?"

See, I don't need therapy; I have a nine-year-old who asks the first thing that comes to her mind.

"What do you wanna know about my childhood?"

"Did your mom avoid you, too?" Her question held so much pain, but she is too young to really understand what her mom did. At least why. She stopped working on her project to look at me.

"Kind of. She drank alcohol a lot."

"I know that, but did she want to see you?"

I shrugged. "I think so. Your mom just..." I shook my head, not understanding it still myself. I mean, the drugs got us in this situation, but how do I explain any of this when I don't know why my sister followed the same path that literally killed Mom?

"How come you didn't turn out like my mom?" she asked, staring on her project again.

"I saw what drugs and alcohol did to your mom and my mom, and I swore I would never do that to myself."

"Are you mad at them?" She looked at me with innocent eyes.

"No."

"Then why don't you ever talk about your childhood? Were they mean to you?"

"No."

"Tell me your favorite thing about being a kid."

I smiled a bit. "Free time."

"You read a lot."

I nodded.

"Steven, why won't you talk about being a kid very often?" She really wanted to know some deep answer. I guess she knows that it affects me when I talk about them.

She's old enough to understand, so I told her. "I miss my mom and I miss your mom, too." She got up and gave me a hug. "Thank you. Having you makes it easier." And harder. I would never trade it though.

"I love you," she told me.

"I love you, too."

I'm at that point where when I think about my mom and sister, I just cringe at my life. I need to get over it because it's not like I can change the past.