Yes Hannah

I have no childhood memories. The ones I repeat were given to me by someone else who remembers. I don’t remember the feel of my grandparent’s hugs or kisses. I don’t remember past Christmases or Halloweens. I don’t remember my brother and if wasn’t for the pictures I wouldn’t remember his face or his smile. I see pictures of me sitting with my grandmother, leaning into her, and smiling for the camera but I don’t remember her. I sometimes look back at those pictures trying to remember but I don’t. I wish I could give my children and grandchildren the wonderful gift of my childhood memories but I can’t. I give them someone else’s memories that pertained to me. I have a picture of me around the age of 7 with my best friend, a dog called Jimbo. I know he was my best friend because someone told me. What I can remember is the feel of the woods; the security and serenity of the stillness. I remember running through a field by the lake and tasting freedom. I remember setting fire to the woods above the house and my dad went to his grave always wondering and never knowing that I did it. I remember the Turtle Pond and magical spring that fed it. I remember going there once and finding it. I felt like I found the pot at the end of the proverbial rainbow. The woods were my hiding place. I found myself in those woods. I went back to the house today. I saw my woods, my field bulldozed. Depression is insidious, its tentacles squeezes your heart until it bleeds tears. I sometimes complain that the medication I take takes away my tears. It didn’t when I drove to the house and saw the destruction. Yes Hannah I do miss my hills.