On: The People from Our Pasts

I've been thinking a lot about my past. Maybe it's because children always make you reflect on life. Maybe it's because, I often wonder how I got to this place. How I made it to the person I am today. 

It would be a joke to think I'm here today solely on my own merits. 

I'm here, the person I am in the place I'm in, not only because, of who I am inside, but because, of the people who touched my life in the past. 

There have been dozens, maybe hundreds, possibly even thousands of people who have changed the course of my life, just by happenstance. However, I rarely think of them.

 Every once in a while, when major changes happen in my life, I find myself thinking about a girl I used to know. 

We'd grown up in the same town, went to the same high school, and participated in the same activities, but we weren't truly friends until after the thrill of graduation, and the realization that the friends we'd made in school weren't friends who could go the distance. 

After my first marriage deteriorated and I found out I was pregnant, she's the person who drove through the night with me from the bright lights of California to the towering trees and cloudy skies of Washington, to escape the unhealthy situation I'd found myself in. 

Two months later, she held my hand as my body fought to save a baby that didn't have a chance, and I lost my son to a medical mistake. 

She is the person who grabbed me by the heart and forced me to start living life again, when all I felt capable of doing was hiding in the dark and crying. 

 There are hundreds of photos of us together. Moments of our lives captured, frozen in time forever. I have them in a box in the closet. I can pull out a photo and remember the exact moment it was taken. A pretty neat trick considering most of the photos were taken while alcohol was flowing freely, and we weren't feeling any pain. 

During those times, my only plan was to live life without true emotion. To have fun, to smile, to have a good time, but to never dig too deeply into my heart, because that is where the darkness would overcome me. I drank to have fun, I drank to be fun, and I drank to hold off the memories of dreams I'd only begun to have. 

Our party days had to come to an end sometime, and that happened when I eventually opened my heart enough to let it heal. I got married to the Marine, moved to Hawaii, and life slowly began again. 

We maintained our friendship through several moves--from Hawaii to Virginia, but when I finally moved back to the same coast, back this time to California, things changed. 

She had her third child, a son, and I wasn't there for the birth. I hadn't been the first person to hear about the pregnancy, and I found out about the birth weeks after the fact. 

We never had a falling out, never had a blowup of any kind. We just got caught up with our own lives. I wish things could be different, but they're not. Life goes on, and some people aren't supposed to be there forever. Some people have a specific job to do, and once it is done, they move on. 

When I think of her, there is a tinge of sadness for the memories of long ago, but there is mostly happiness. 

Happiness, because of the life I have now. The choices she helped me make. The adventures we had that led me to where I was supposed to be. 

I only hope, I helped her as much as she helped me. 

R.S.

Do you have someone from your past that you think fondly of? I'd love to hear the story.

On Sensory Memory

Our senses are our strongest weapons.

Sight allows us to avoid running into things, or stepping into a trap waiting to snap around our ankle.

Smell tells us when the chicken has spoiled and will insure us a lengthy ER visit if we eat it.

Taste backs smell up. It sends up the red flag to spit out whatever we're ingesting before we end up sitting in hard plastic chairs waiting to be seen at the ER.

Sound alerts us to horns blaring, sirens shrieking, or the urgent voice of someone yelling, "Fire!".

Touch can warn us when there is heat radiating from an object, or if something is rough and might cut, tear, or poke us.

Our senses are amazing.

And can also be a pain in the ass.

Or our best friend.

As I've said, a time or two in previous posts, my husband is a U.S. Marine. He deploys for seven months at a stretch, and my daughter and I don't see him or hear from him during the majority of that time.

While he is gone there are days I can go about my routine (because routines are incredibly important to a toddler, and even to a wife, when someone they love is gone), without feeling the painful thud of my heart. Everything will be hunky dory, and then...my traitorous senses wake up.

The scent of his aftershave will assault my nose as I walk through a store, and I'll look for him. Memories of him flood my mind, and though they are all happy, my mood becomes sad. It's the same way with his voice.

It's a rare and happy occurrence when he can call, and though his voice brings me happiness, it too brings me sadness. Sometimes it's easier to deal with his absence when I don't hear his voice anywhere but in my dreams.

Touch can often be the hardest one for me.

The texture of my sheets reminds me of the empty space beside me at night. The roughness of his extra uniform pokes at our missed hours. Mixed with the other senses, it's the one most likely to render me momentarily stupid...or weepy.

Sight can be a bitch all by itself.

Going places, and seeing sites you've visited with someone you care about can be both rewarding and heartbreaking. You've made memories there, and all of them flood back as you retrace the footsteps of your past...even in your present.

Big Train Chai

The same can be said about Taste.

My best friend, an amazing and thoughtful person, lives in Washington State. Approximately 1500 miles away. While I was visiting her last winter she introduced me to Big Train Chai, and my tastebuds have never been the same. In fact, whenever I breakdown and order Starbucks Chai, they throw up the proverbial middle finger.

It's just not the same.

Out here, in the middle of nowhere, there isn't a store where I can pick up the large bags of liquid manna. Yes, I could order it online and have it delivered, and I would...but I don't have to.

She sends it to me, and it means so much more.

On the mornings I allow myself a steaming (or in many cases, ice cold) cup of liquid heaven, I think of her. No matter how long it has been since I've seen her, she's right next to me as I take those first precious sips.

Yes, our senses are our greatest weapons... but they're also our greatest link to our past.

What sights, sounds, tastes, and smells bring memories back to you? I'd love to hear them.

R.S.