After walking around the harbour village we headed towards the house we lived in for the first 7 years of my sons life (before the shit hit the fan). As we turned down the street we lived on just a block from the house we heard dadumdadumdadumdadum…pulled over and found this
It seemed like a surreal event that forced us to take a very slow walk down that familiar street. A street where we knew many neighbors. My best friend no longer lives there, in fact I doubt any of the people I knew still live there. When we got to the end, I turned to go back and my son said there’s a big park down behind these houses, I looked at him skeptically but as we walked around, sure enough there was the big park I took my kids to many, many times. I told my son I was impressed that he remembered that to which he replied…”I never forget anything”.
And there it is-the root of his anxiety and anguish…he doesn’t forget anything…mostly the bad and ugly. If only he could recite the details of the happy days as well as he can recall the agonizing detail of the not so great days.