We've been having a random nice memory play in our head, flashes of two images of a single day, like a broken record, skipping, playing over and over. Like we're trying to copy it into our memory. Figured might as well release it onto "paper", so it might stop.
We are standing in the library of the private Christian school we were attending (from first to fifth grade), it was small, and the shape of a circle, with one window facing the parking lot. We can recall the smell of books (old books, we love the smell of books), silence, no thoughts. I imagine we were feeling excited, it seems like the only feeling we could have been having.
Standing, watching, waiting for The Father to pick us up. It was the day Baby Brother was born (our second brother, youngest brother).
Later, on a stretch of road during the forty-two mile trip to the hospital (it was twice the distance that home was, from the school), where there was an old heritage site, with a church and a playground, we can see ourselves sitting in the backseat of a blue Ford Escort. <not sure why we would be sitting in the back>
We don't remember anything else, no feelings we might have had, no conversation with The Father, nothing before, nothing after. Not usual, we're sure.
We see that little girl, such a pretty little girl, from outside of our body, like we're watching someone else. We want to hold her, and hug her, and tell her that she has to keep being strong for a long, long time.
It was 1987*. We were seven and a half years old*. None of us remember a time before Baby Brother, except maybe Bethany...and she's apprehensive to share anything, ever. So far I have no access to most memories before our physical age of about 12, other than this and vague portions of the bad ones; at least this is a happy one, even if it is, collectively, less than 30 seconds.
~ C & C
[*corrected after The Father read the blog entry, we were a year off, thinking baby brother was born in 1986, and thinking we were six and a half. He says he remembers us being very excited, and that Angry Brother (who would have been about five and a half) was less so. (we don't remember him being there, maybe he wasn't)]
We are one, We are many, We are Just Call Me Frank. Candid, adjudicating, philosophy wielding, life journaling, mental health advocating, writing and art therapy enthusiasts, lovers of learning; adventurers with a finger on all the buttons. Writing to survive and thrive.
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