Today is the anniversary of our first date. For those who don't know, we met while working at the movies and surprisingly enough, our first date was a movie. I remember everything about that first date. I remember what he was wearing, I remember what I was wearing, I remember our good-bye in the car and I remember the conversation we had after I dropped him off and had tucked myself into bed. (Yup, that's right, I drove because even though I didn't know it at the time, he didn't have a license) I remember feeling that this was a different first date.
A few weeks ago, I read something in a book that made me think about our first date thirteen years ago.
In You Have to Kiss A Lot of Frogs by Laurie Graff, the main character of the book describes how the first movie rented by a couple can described the entire relationship. While it wasn't a rented movie (I unfortunately don't remember that movie), it was our first movie together. I would have thought that the title of our first movie date would have been an indication that we were doomed to fail, but standing here today, I know that it was perfect title.
What was the movie you may ask? Something witty, something romantic, maybe something sad? No, it was the movie about World War II: Saving Private Ryan. It is a well done film about several soldiers looking for one soldier right after the invasion of Normandy Beach. It may be graphic, heart wrenching with moments of sadness, but it also has moments of happiness. If I had read this book after our first day, I would have thought that a movie like this would show this was not a relationship that could last. I mean the movie is about WWII, that just says disaster right? I never really thought about the movie or the title, but after reading the Graff book, I finally did. And the content of the movie is not what is important, it's the title. I think the title is an actual depiction of what the last thirteen years have been like. Adam has saved me. I didn't know it then, but I was about to be thrown into a war that would last several years and I would need to be brought home to safety just like Private Ryan. Adam helped me save myself while showing me the strength that lived inside me. He is my home, he is my safe place. He showed me that it was okay to walk away from the war. It is okay to be my own person and survive on my own. In moments when I question my choice or decision to leave the war, he reminds me that I am strong and I am safe.
Well, our first movie was not romantic, but it was memorable and true. Adam saved me. He may not have shiny armor, but he is my knight and I am glad that we are in this together. I hope when we go out this weekend to celebrate our first date with a movie that that title tells the story of the next thirteen years.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
Tears in the Parking Lot
What sparks a memory? Is there something that can take you back to a memory in mere seconds? I believe that one of my coping methods as a child was to connect a memory to something and then lock it away. With many memories too painful to keep on the surface, I would lock them away and then only be reminded of them if I come face to face with my connection. It is either a smell or a sound that can take me back to a moment.
It doesn't happen often, but when it does I am taken back and sometimes relive the moment in my head. It happened the other day and I almost cried as hard as I did during that moment in my life. I was in a store and smelled leather. Immediately, I was days away from turning ten. I was in the back of my mom's Lincoln Continental and she just told me that my dad was going to live with his friend because my mom and dad needed to spend some time apart. My first thought was how can I fix this? What did I do wrong? What did my brother do wrong? I could hear him talking to my mom, but all I could hear was the blood rushing through my ears. My little brother was sitting in the front of the car asking questions about what he was going to do the next day or what he wanted to do for his birthday, I felt so alone. The tears started to flow and I was embarrassed about my feelings so I turned my head and buried my face into the leather seat. I cried as she drove the car back home. I was terrified that my dad was not going to be there when we got back and I couldn't say good-bye. I missed him already and I wanted to tell him I was sorry. I felt helpless. Then I was angry. I was angry with my mom because she took us away from him to tell us rather than have the two of them telling us together. I wished that I could have asked questions, but I was so afraid for my future that I just couldn't form a sentence. I wanted to scream, I wanted to go back to the day before when everything was okay. My last thought was will my dad be there for my birthday? Could I see him whenever I wanted? Was he mad at me or my brother or my mom?
I am not a person that wears leather, I don't have leather seats in my car, so my encounters with leather are few. I have been near others that have worn a leather jacket and I have been in a car with leather seats, but it seems to happen when the smell comes from no where and I am caught off guard. I was looking for something in a clothing store and I walked past a section of coats with several leather coats and the smell was overwhelming and I immediately felt ten again. I had all the emotions of that moment flow through me and I felt myself get upset. I put the items I was holding down and walked out.
It was not the first moment in my life that I felt alone, but it was a moment when I remembered that feeling of being alone. That experience in my mom's car was the moment I felt alone for the first time. That was the moment that I became an adult and was no longer able to be a child. That was probably one of the scariest moments in my life. I now understand why my 10 year old self blocked out the memory and I also understand why I made a connection to the smell of leather with that moment. As sad and as terrifying as that moment was when I was ten, it shaped me and my future. The other day, sitting in my car, I cried, but I cried because I wished that someone was around to tell that little girl how strong she was and that she would survive that moment and terrible moments that were yet to come. That she would find peace and become a happy person that she should be proud of.
I can't change that connection, but I can use that connection to remember that moment that changed my life and use it to never let my children feel the way that I did. I hope that someday, my children will be proud of their mom and are able to see the strength inside my soul and know that the decisions I have made were to protect their souls.
It doesn't happen often, but when it does I am taken back and sometimes relive the moment in my head. It happened the other day and I almost cried as hard as I did during that moment in my life. I was in a store and smelled leather. Immediately, I was days away from turning ten. I was in the back of my mom's Lincoln Continental and she just told me that my dad was going to live with his friend because my mom and dad needed to spend some time apart. My first thought was how can I fix this? What did I do wrong? What did my brother do wrong? I could hear him talking to my mom, but all I could hear was the blood rushing through my ears. My little brother was sitting in the front of the car asking questions about what he was going to do the next day or what he wanted to do for his birthday, I felt so alone. The tears started to flow and I was embarrassed about my feelings so I turned my head and buried my face into the leather seat. I cried as she drove the car back home. I was terrified that my dad was not going to be there when we got back and I couldn't say good-bye. I missed him already and I wanted to tell him I was sorry. I felt helpless. Then I was angry. I was angry with my mom because she took us away from him to tell us rather than have the two of them telling us together. I wished that I could have asked questions, but I was so afraid for my future that I just couldn't form a sentence. I wanted to scream, I wanted to go back to the day before when everything was okay. My last thought was will my dad be there for my birthday? Could I see him whenever I wanted? Was he mad at me or my brother or my mom?
I am not a person that wears leather, I don't have leather seats in my car, so my encounters with leather are few. I have been near others that have worn a leather jacket and I have been in a car with leather seats, but it seems to happen when the smell comes from no where and I am caught off guard. I was looking for something in a clothing store and I walked past a section of coats with several leather coats and the smell was overwhelming and I immediately felt ten again. I had all the emotions of that moment flow through me and I felt myself get upset. I put the items I was holding down and walked out.
It was not the first moment in my life that I felt alone, but it was a moment when I remembered that feeling of being alone. That experience in my mom's car was the moment I felt alone for the first time. That was the moment that I became an adult and was no longer able to be a child. That was probably one of the scariest moments in my life. I now understand why my 10 year old self blocked out the memory and I also understand why I made a connection to the smell of leather with that moment. As sad and as terrifying as that moment was when I was ten, it shaped me and my future. The other day, sitting in my car, I cried, but I cried because I wished that someone was around to tell that little girl how strong she was and that she would survive that moment and terrible moments that were yet to come. That she would find peace and become a happy person that she should be proud of.
I can't change that connection, but I can use that connection to remember that moment that changed my life and use it to never let my children feel the way that I did. I hope that someday, my children will be proud of their mom and are able to see the strength inside my soul and know that the decisions I have made were to protect their souls.
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