Traumas

"Violated" ©2011 Suzanne G. McClendon

I was visiting a friend’s blog this morning called Artmuse Dog. She was discussing learning from our traumas.

In early January 2010, I was assaulted by a customer in the store where my husband and I were working. I saw the boy come in and thought his greeting a bit odd (“hey, girlfriend”), but I tried to not think anything about it really because people were always calling me things like “dear”, “mama”, etc. It’s just the way they are around here.

I should have regarded more fully the initial twinges that I got from that greeting.

He did not rape me. I thank Heavenly Father for that. In some ways, I think what he ultimately did was worse (for me personally) than a ferocious physical attack. He attacked my security, my safety…my sanity.

I can’t remember enough about it to do anything about it, and couldn’t even in the immediate aftermath give a description of the boy, but I can’t forget it enough to forget it happened. And it has me trapped, looking over my shoulder, wondering “is that him?” every time I see someone who even remotely favors what I remember of him – short stature, thin, curly/wavy dark hair.

One Thousand Gifts: Day One Hundred Seven

107. I am thankful for potatoes, peanut butter, and crackers. I am thankful for the jobs that are lined up and those coming. I am thankful for provision. I am thankful for lively conversations and for quiet moments. I am thankful for tutorials that help me figure things out. I am thankful for friends that share their talents and knowledge.

One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are

Five Minute Friday: Backwards

Join in the fun at The Gypsy Mama’s blog!

Backwards…

As the clock ticks forward, my heart is constantly looking back. I remember my grandparents and a time when I couldn’t imagine a time without them. Now, I don’t have to imagine. They are back there, in the memories that I struggle to look back to and remember.

I remember back when I was a little kid and going to school and sometimes liking it, sometimes not.

I feel back to that time in my Aunt Charlotte’s yard, the Coke bottle piercing the underside of my big toe. I remember the pain of the car door closing on toes and other times on fingers.

I remember something that I shouldn’t remember, sitting with my great-grandmother on the couch in my Aunt Mae’s front room, but she died before I was three so there should be no real memory for me to look back on…yet there is.

I remember atrocities that no child should ever experience or witness from many years ago, but I can’t look backwards five minutes and remember the start of the conversation that I am currently in. I can’t remember the order of events from our day out working.

But, I can look backwards, smell backwards, remembering the Dove soap in my grandma’s bathroom and the Sea Breeze at Aunt Mae’s house and how she boiled the water that we had for drinking. I look backwards and remember brushing long strands of shiny, silvery, beautiful hair and hoping that some day mine would be as beautiful as hers.

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Random Thoughts by Suzanne