Birthdays and abandonment
Today Mark and I went to Iowa for a little geocaching, and on the way back we saw signs for Galesburg, a town about thirty-five minutes away from Peoria.
"I used to live there," I told him.
"I didn't know that; when was this?" Mark responded.
And I told him the story: for a month and a half I lived with great-aunts of mine. My parents dropped us there and didn't come back for nearly two months. And here's the kicker: we don't know why.
Memories of that time have continued to linger with me -- of when I was four and my great-aunts were celebrating my birthday with a creepy-looking Mickey Mouse cake. All I cared about, though, was knowing where my parents were. But, each time I tried to ask my great-aunts, the question was quickly dismissed with, "they'll be back soon." Upon relaying this to my father a decade later he fidgeted for a bit and said that it never happened.
After my father died, my sister brought up us living in Galesburg. I was amazed and told her what dad told me.
"Of course we did; we stayed in Jane and Margaret's guest room for almost two months!" I knew it -- it HAD happened.
"So why did they leave us there that long?"
And of course, she didn't know either. In fact, outside of the children and my mother, everyone involved in this has passed away, and my mother claims to have no recollection of this ever having happened. An this is certainly possible -- the more seizures my mother has the more she forgets.
So that means that I still have no answers -- only a memory of being left behind for my birthday (which, in turn, fuels my loathing of my birthday, I'm sure!). I really wish I had some clue to on, but it seems there's a dead end at this point -- but these "missing details" of my own life admittedly irk me a bit ...
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"I used to live there," I told him.
"I didn't know that; when was this?" Mark responded.
And I told him the story: for a month and a half I lived with great-aunts of mine. My parents dropped us there and didn't come back for nearly two months. And here's the kicker: we don't know why.
Memories of that time have continued to linger with me -- of when I was four and my great-aunts were celebrating my birthday with a creepy-looking Mickey Mouse cake. All I cared about, though, was knowing where my parents were. But, each time I tried to ask my great-aunts, the question was quickly dismissed with, "they'll be back soon." Upon relaying this to my father a decade later he fidgeted for a bit and said that it never happened.
After my father died, my sister brought up us living in Galesburg. I was amazed and told her what dad told me.
"Of course we did; we stayed in Jane and Margaret's guest room for almost two months!" I knew it -- it HAD happened.
"So why did they leave us there that long?"
And of course, she didn't know either. In fact, outside of the children and my mother, everyone involved in this has passed away, and my mother claims to have no recollection of this ever having happened. An this is certainly possible -- the more seizures my mother has the more she forgets.
So that means that I still have no answers -- only a memory of being left behind for my birthday (which, in turn, fuels my loathing of my birthday, I'm sure!). I really wish I had some clue to on, but it seems there's a dead end at this point -- but these "missing details" of my own life admittedly irk me a bit ...
Post from mobile portal m.livejournal.com