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Elizabeth45: hello everyone...
| Søger: | Han Alder 50 til 70 | | Status: | 38 Enkelt Lige Kvinde | | Beliggenhed: | | | Interesseret i: | Aktivitetspartner | | Etnicitet: | Østasiatiske | | Levende: | Hjemløs | | Eye Catcher: | Bryst | | | Højde: | 5'4 tommer | | Legeme: | Gennemsnit | | Hår/Øjne: | Afro, Sort | | Røg: | Ingen måde | | Drikke: | Rør aldrig ved det | | Dyrke motion | 2 gange om ugen | | Politik: | Ingen | | | Uddannelse: | Gymnasium | | Religion: | kristen | | Indkomst: | Mindre end $15.000 | | Beskæftigelse: | Teacher | | Afkom: | Ingen | | Personlighed: | Sjov | | Land: | United Kingdom | |
MIN HISTORIE
I was born in a very small town in rural Maine. It was beautiful in the summer, cold in the winter, and quiet all the time. Everyone knew one another, and had no problem minding your business as well as their own. I was the first born of five kids. My parents would eventually have four girls together, and my mother would have a son later in life with another man. We lived in an apartment when I was born, but I had no memory of that. My first memory was when we lived in the farmhouse. My younger sister was born just eleven months after I was, but I don’t remember her being born. I remember our playroom. The farmhouse we lived in was very large, and had enough rooms that we could have our own playroom, separate from our bedrooms. We had everything two little girls could ever want in there. My earliest memory was of my father. He was playing with us, but he had to go to work. I was still young enough to take naps. My mom said it was time for a nap, but I knew that meant Daddy would leave. I threw a giant fit, and cried so hard I couldnt breathe. My dad brought Oreo cookies up to my room, and let me eat them in bed. My little sister was too young for cookies, so it was just for me. I chuckled a little at the memory and then heard, “Good memories?” I nodded softly. I wanted to reach deeper into that day, and remember more of the details, but the harder I tried to grasp them, the cloudier they became. I frowned in disappointment. “Yes”, she sung in a whispered voice, “the good ones are always the most elusive.” “What is the first memory you wish you could forget?” She breathed the question out in an eerie tone. How did she make her voice sound like that? I thought about peeking, just to see if she was using a device to change her voice, but I didn’t want to risk being caught. My grandmother was my rock. When my parents divorced, she was the one I could confide in. When my mother abandoned us kids, and left to live with a man in another state, she was the one who dried my tears. When my father ran to the arms of another woman, who did not want his children, my grandmother was the one who calmed my anger. I loved her more then anyone in my life. We were sitting in the Doctors office, waiting for me to be seen, when she mentioned her stomach aches. I told her she should get it checked out. I told her she needed to take care of herself, and not just everyone else. That was my Grandmother, always worried about everyone but herself. I am just like her. Later, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Later, she would have chemo treatments. Later, she would be hospitalized and need surgeries. Later, she would have a stroke that left her unable to communicate with us. Later, they would pump her full of morphine and kill her slowly. I wish I could forget that night. Watching her eyes plead with everyone around her, please make it stop. She had been there for each and every one of us, but where were we now? A tear rolled down my cheek. “Hmm, not such a great memory that one, huh?” The girl asked with compassion dripping in her voice. I shook my head, and took a shaky breath in. A moment passed, then two, filled with silence. She allowed me to feel the pain of my memory, as I pushed it back into its box in my brain. “Ready to continue?” She asked. I nodded, hesitant about what might come next. “Good then ….” she breathed airily “What memory do you most regret?” I stole a peek under my eye lids. The girl sat motionless across from me in a dark red chair. Her hair hung down straight as pins, and dark as the night. Her hands were clasped in her lap. There were no devices being used, but how could she change her voice to sound like that? I had a lot of regretful memories. However, the night I abandoned a good friend in a time of need is the one I regret the most. I am a very hardworking, and loyal, person. I will go to the ends of the earth for someone who I love. We had been together for a big part of my adult life, but we just could never make it work. Our relationship became toxic, and I had to walk away. I had vowed to stop many times, but this time I stuck to my promise. He tried to reach out a handful of times, but I ignored him. I knew if I caved, we would end up right back in a bad situation. He killed himself. “Can we stop now?” I asked meekly. “Aww, sometimes to discover who we are, we have to look at the bad. It’s life.” she answered, “do you really want to stop? How about just one more question?” “What memory are you most proud of? “ Her voice lulled me back into thought. My daughter was born after almost three long hours of pushing. I didn’t think I would ever, in a million years, look into the eyes of my own child. I had lived most of my life with the thought that I would never have children of my own, and had found a way to come to terms with it. Now here I was, holding my baby, and promising her the world. I had been an addict for the better part of ten years. Not something I am proud of, but a part of my life. Becoming pregnant and flipped a switch somewhere deep inside me and forced me to do something I had never be able to do before, quit. My daughter saved my life in many ways. I looked down at her tiny fingers wrapped around my pinky. Would she ever know how much she meant to me? Would she ever know just how important she was? She is my proudest moment, my proudest accomplishment, and I wouldn’t change anything about my life because it all brought me to this moment.