Since becoming a mama, I've started to think back on my own childhood more and more. I've remembered memories that I haven't thought of in years, and at first I struggled with it. I was afraid that by remembering memories I had purposefully and successfully ignored, I would open Pandora's box of emotions and have too many meltdowns. I was afraid of having to go to counseling and be thought of as weak. I was the girl who in middle school, went to mandated counseling sessions and was told by my counselor that I was wasting mine and his time by coming, since I clearly was not traumatized by the events leading to me being placed in foster care. And I don't think he was wrong. I was happy, I had a huge combined family who loved and teased me, and who had helped me through harder times. They were the counselors I needed at that time.
I flourished in my family's love and to all seemed quite normal. High school was great. I had acclimated to being a teenager and lived life to the fullest. Only my closest of friends really knew that I was in foster care, and only a few knew of the reasons why. When I finally became comfortable telling more people of my childhood, they were all surprised. The general reaction was "but you seem so normal!"
Now that I've started looking back more, I guess I've been afraid of not being "normal" anymore. That my husband would be married to "that Canadian lady who has the soap opera childhood". That Briella wouldn't have a normal childhood because I'd be so afraid of passing on family mistakes that I'd be overprotective and she'd grow up hating me for it.
You might be thinking, wow, what brought this on? Well, let me tell you.
I was thinking about when Briella would start making and remembering her own memories. Like, she probably won't remember this Easter, but will she remember next Easter? So I tried to think back on the first Easter I could remember.
I was probably 4, and my biological "Granny" had brought my sister and I to visit our biological mom in jail. The jail must have held some sort of Easter celebration for the inmate's families because I remember egg races, hot dogs, water balloon tosses and an egg hunt. I remember wearing a poofy dress and frilly socks. I think my sister was wearing a blue dress, and our mom had made us little Easter baskets with fake flowers in them. Our mom was happy and laughed a lot at our antics, but when we were about to leave she hugged each of us and we started to cry, knowing we had to go and she had to stay. I don't remember what she said, only that whatever it was it made me laugh. Once we were in the car Granny started talking to us, asking how our visit was and did we like seeing "Mommy". Then she started telling us we probably wouldn't be able to see her again because "Mommy couldn't stay away from bad men". I'm pretty sure the only thing we understood was that we wouldn't be seeing "Mommy" again and we both started crying again. That was also the last time we ever visited Granny by ourselves again, as she had taken us to the jail without permission from our social worker.
Now fast forward 20 years and my beautiful daughter is wandering around outside in a beautiful yellow Easter dress, collecting Easter eggs with her Daddy (my handsome stud of a husband). She spent the morning talking on skype with family, and playing with me. She went to bed that night with both parents home and slept in the peace of knowing she was (is) loved. Now I realize that my daughter will never have to visit me in some low security prison, and that her memories will be sweeter. She is surrounded by people who love her and would protect her with their own lives, Josh and I more than anyone. But the little girl inside of me thinks back and wistfully wishes for better memories, and it drives me to make sure my daughter doesn't ever feel this way.
But what a better time than Easter Sunday to remember not so pleasant memories? The day we celebrate Christ's rising. Celebrating His triumph over death and sin. Yes, Christ died, he died for all our sins. For my biological parent's sins, my sins, Josh's sins....everybody's sins! And not only did He die, but He ROSE! He conquered death, sin and all the ugliness. We have new life in Him. My childhood doesn't have to hold me back or keep me in fear since, He's already conquered it!
Yes, maybe it is a good thing I've started remembering these old memories!
Happy (belated) Easter everyone!
