How memory works

We are visiting the small town where my husband grew up. As we walked through the streets, passed the school, he told me the stories. ‘When I started school, we were 24 in my class, we had the classroom right there, the third window from the left. The house we lived in are not here anymore, but this was the view I had from my bedroom. We used to go to to the store here on the corner for ice cream every summer.’

Things like that. I realize (again) that I don’t have those stories, things went very wrong before I can remember, and I have used most of my life trying to keep everything away, only to find that it does come back, uncontrollable, horrifying.

Boats are still looking for the missing 19-year old, we are watching them from where we sit right now.
I don’t like this place. Had a really bad night last night, and feel some desperation over bad sleep creeping up on me. Feel a bit blue today.

We are leaving now.



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