Losing Touch
How Childhood Keeps a Hold on You
Did you ever cry yourself to sleep? People talk about it in books and movies, but have you ever done it? I can remember my mother coming in to check on me after I’d gone to bed. I tried to still my eyelids so it would seem like I was asleep. But my pillow was wet with my tears. I always wondered if she saw. She’d look at me for a little bit and then turn and shut the door. And I cried some more.
I remember crying. I don’t remember why.
Childhood sucked. I don’t know why. I’m always happy for people who say they had good childhoods and wonder what that might have been like. I can’t relate to them. I actually can’t relate to a lot of people. Maybe because I never put down roots. But I am a writer and can imagine with the best of them. I can invent a story with a happy kid in it. I think I’d like that.
I was the oldest. We moved a lot. I can remember the times we’d all pile into the car with whatever dogs and cats we had at the time; the top of our station wagon loaded with suitcases.
And we’d leave.
I would cry then, too. Those were heart-wrenching times. I left Lynn. I left Berta. I left Martha. I left so many people behind. Oh, sure, we’d write a little bit, but at some point, those letters would stop. Maybe after a couple of years, either one of us was on the road again, and we would lose touch.
We were all nomads. We were strangers again.
It’s hard for children in military families. Things don’t get solved. Although, the upside is you get to reinvent yourself if you want to. It’s all an act.
The first time I went to a school where there weren’t a lot of military kids, I was shocked at these people who had known each other since they were in kindergarten. That information just did not compute. My best friend in those days told me in a whispered voice behind her hand as she shielded our conversation that the snooty, red-headed, popular girl had been best friends when they were little. Now, they were mortal enemies. It just did not compute for me.
The only person I’ve been with for any real length of time is my husband. He still corresponds with people he was friends with sixty years ago.
So, although I don’t understand friends, I do understand my husband. And that’s a good thing. As a writer, I understand loneliness and shyness, so that’s a good thing. Maybe there are a lot of people out there who could relate to that. I can’t say that I can be any more motivational about it other than to say, “Someday, you’ll grow up, and then it won’t matter so much.”
What I can tell you is it still hurts, and I cried as I wrote about it just now.
I was going to end the story then. It’s been half a day, and I’ve been watching “This is Us” instead of doing our 2023 finances. It’s fascinating to me how they have woven a story that goes back and forth from long ago and their beginnings to spin into the present day, some 30 years later, and it all makes sense. It’s just like real life because I would think somebody looking at me would say, “Get over it. That was years ago. What’s your problem?” And, yet, those long-ago things that happened that still make me cry are just as real now as they were when they first happened. Yeah, I know I’m an adult, and with all the therapy I’ve gone through, I should know when it’s time to get some more. Something about January always does me in.
On the other hand, this is who I am, and speaking as a writer, it’s all grist for the mill.
Grind on, and thanks for reading.