I remember thinking, 'How the hell do you do that? How do you know what came first?
I was never able to give an answer and to this day, I still cannot.
Memories, for me, come in snippets. I'll be driving by something or will hear or smell something and a memory will come flooding back. Most of these memories are from my teen years and on. I can't ever remember years...to this day, I still don't know what year my grandmother died but I remember the event like it was yesterday...but I have another way of measuring when things happened. Get ready for it...boyfriends. That's right, I can't remember the year things take place but I can remember which doofus I was dating and I piece it together from there. How pathetic. It's not my fault though. Jay got all the math and numbers brains so by the time I came around, there was nothing left.
Most of my childhood memories include my neighborhood friends: Allison, Chrissy, Jenny, and Andrea. I can still feel the twigs smacking me across the face as we ran through the trees and bushes where the Shabonee School parking lot now sits. I remember games we would play and how we would be out together from 9:00 in the morning until our moms called out the back door to let us know it was time for dinner. I remember holding fake dancing competitions and arguing over who got to sing which Kenny Loggins song from Footloose. Oh, the drama.
I've got plenty of those type memories. What I don't really have or are at least unable to access in my brain are memories of time spent with my family. Sure I remember family vacations in bits and pieces and I certainly remember all the trouble I got in...however, I have very few memories of me with my siblings or with my parents.
Keep in mind that my sister is 11 years older than I am and my brother is 14 years older. That's a huge difference. At a certain point, I felt more like an only child because they were gone away at college. I don't think Carla ever really came back after that. See...I can't remember.
Both of my parents worked. My dad held a typical 9 to 5 job at The Sears Tower. He'd take the train there and back and would then take a bus that would drop him off at White Mountain...the street behind ours. I DO remember sometimes running to the bus stop to meet him so that I could walk home with him. I didn't get to spend much time with him during the weekdays and on weekends, I was off with my friends.
My mom had an unusual job...but one that kept me very popular in town. She worked with chocolate out of our basement. Imagine how many people wanted to come to MY house for playdates!
With HER job, however, there was a lot of travel involved. She would be gone for what seemed like weeks on end since some of the trips backed up to others. If she WAS home, she would be down in what we call "the dungeon" working away. When she began writing her first book...well, forget it. None of us saw her at all then.
So since my parents were busy working, many of my childhood family memories revolved around my grandmother. Most include her apartment in Indiana or going to my Auntie Margie's house. Many of these memories included me being spoiled rotten...which is probably why they stand out the way they do.
On Easter, as the kids went running down the huge hill in my brother's front yard looking for eggs, a memory came and smacked me across the face. Clear as day...like I was standing in the memory itself. It's one of my fondest childhood memories...and it includes my dad...
In the Fall, when I was little, my father would drive me over to Wood Oaks park and we'd walk up what seemed to me back then, a mountain. When we got to the top, he would take me to the west side of the hill and we would lean against the gate in silence. He brought me here to witness the beauty of nature as the trees from the forest preserve began to change color. No words...just silence. No work...just a dad and his daughter.
We'd always go right before dusk so as we were quietly staring at the trees, the sun would begin to set. I can still see some of those sunsets and how the sun reflected off the leaves. As the sky changed colors behind the multi-colored trees, you couldn't help but realize just how beautiful some things God does really are.
As the sun began to set, he'd let me play a bit before heading back to the car and on to our next stop; Baskin Robbins...the one that USED to be next to the McDonalds that USED to be in Sanders Court.
But back to the hill...
I remember the thrill of running down that thing at full force while my dad was shouting behind me "SLOW DOWN!!!" After a few trots down, there was no way you could possibly stop yourself. You either face planted, or you made it to the end of the hill. Virtually impossible to stop midway.
If I wasn't running like an idiot asking for a neck injury, I was rolling down the hill. The thought of this now makes me sick to my stomach. How I was able to do that without throwing up is beyond me. But back then...it was fun.
I liked running more though. As you caught speed, your strides became longer and each time your foot hit the Earth, it would take your breath away. You were just going so damn fast...wind whipping in your face, hair blowing everywhere, a trail of grass and dust left behind you, having absolutely no control...it was awesome.
And then I grew up.
When I see my son doing the same thing I did as a child, I'm screaming at the top of my lungs, "SLOOOOOOWWWWW DOOOOOOOWWWWWN!!!!!" just like my father once did. All I can picture is him face planting and losing all of his teeth...or worse. As an adult, I now see the danger in running full speed down a hill...but not back then. I see myself in Jackson each time he's running down a hill laughing or yelling with delight. I see what my father saw when he watched me run like an idiot way back when.
I miss those evening trips out to see the leaves changing with my dad. I miss standing in silence with him, not knowing what he's thinking, but knowing it isn't anything like his thoughts now. I miss the innocence of that time...not yet realizing that your parents would get sick one day and that this would be one of those moments that brings tears to your eyes. Such a trivial experience but yet it's the one that makes my heart hurt the most.
I would give anything to have just ONE of those nights with him now. If I could just wheel him up there and park him on the west side of the hill and watch the sun set over the deep red and bright yellow tree tops... I would give anything to sit up there in silence with him and not be thinking that I'm losing him. I'd give anything to have the mind of a child and not know what the reality is here. I'd give anything to WALK up that hill with him and hold a hand that hasn't been touched by ALS. The strong hand...that's the one I want to hold.
But while I miss the quiet moments at the top of the hill and would die to relive those now, I still feel as if I'm running down Wood Oaks hill...at full speed....but this time I'm not having fun. This time, I can't stop. This time, my legs are moving faster than the rest of my body. This time, the lack of control is different. It's scaring me.
Because in reality, my life now feels like running down a hill. Things are moving so fast and just when you think you gain some control over your movement, you lose it again. Your feet feel as if there are wheels attached to them. Full speed ahead...no squealing with delight.
Now it's not my father who I hear screaming, "SLOW DOWN!"...it's me.
"Make it stop! Make this slow down! Not so fast! I can't control this! DAD!!! HELP ME!!!!!"
But it doesn't stop...it doesn't slow down. In fact, it seems like every day you pick up more and more steam. You have no control and you're scared of how it's going to feel when you fall...when he's gone.
I wish I had a picture of us at the top of that hill. I wish I had something that I could hold in my hand to remind me of those nights. I wish that instead of running down that hill, I am rolling. Even if it makes me puke, I'd rather be rolling.
If I was rolling, it wouldn't hurt as bad at the end of the hill.
If I was rolling, I'd have more time.
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