I didn't know

I don't recall what my first childhood memory was, but I DO remember the most vivid one.

I was standing in the living room of our old home. Holding my brothers tightly under each arm. They were squirming and twisting, and shouting "Daddy!" as the paramedics took him down the stairs in a stretcher. They wanted to run over to him. I wanted to run over to him as well, but a very grown-up voice in my head told me that we'd only be in the way.

So I stood there. And held them. And let the paramedics take my daddy away.

I didn't know then, that it would be the last time I saw him alive. I didn't know then that he'd die on the way hospital and it would change our lives forever. I didn't know what a heart attack was. I don't know for sure that I'd do anything different, though I do sometimes daydream about running to him and touching his face for the last time.

I do know that whenever someone asks me anything about my childhood, that's the first memory that pops up. I know that it happened January 28, 1987, but that's only because I have a bookmark with his obituary on it. I know that I was 8 years old. And I know that even though it's been over 20 years ago, I sometimes still miss him, though there are many days I don't think about it at all.

Life is weird. Grief is even weirder.

Those Squirmy Eels

I've been living the pseudo-single-mom life for a while, and came up with a pretty good analogy of how life as a single parent seems to go. At least for me.

Imagine you work at a pet store. The store receives a shipment of eels. Eels? Yes, eels, just bear with me for a minute here. The manager asks you to transfer the eels to another tank, and by the tone of his voice, it sounds like a task that would take maybe 20 minutes.

You plop your hand in the tank and grab an eel, squeezing it firmly enough that you have a good hold on it, but not so hard as to hurt it. You carry it to the other tank. This ain't so hard, you think. Transfer a couple more, then the next trip, to save time, you grab two. One squirms out of your grasp and hits the floor. You transfer the other eel, and try to catch the escapee. Some customers are giving you dirty looks.

You catch the slippery critter, put it in the tank and go grab another. You turn around, and about half the eels have managed to slither out of the tank. So you catch those and put them back. Look at your watch -- it's time to feed the hamsters!

You hurriedly feed the hamsters, and go back to the eel task, when a customer needs your assistance. You help them and go back to the eel task, realizing now it's time to feed the fish. What you thought should have taken 20 minutes will actually be a two day job, there's water on the floor, you've got little accomplished, customers are unhappy, and you feel like you've let your boss, the customers, and all the pets down. You're a big, fat failure.

So how does it relate to real life? The pets and eels are your children. They need to be cared for, correctly, in a timely manner. The customers are people in your life, whether they are friends, family, school acquaintances or people who give you dirty looks in the store when your kids act up. And the manager? That's the voice in your head that tells you that you can never do good enough. Or maybe there's a person who acts like the boss in your life. For me, it's that voice.

Just my opinion.