GreenEyesBeneathGreySkies

I spent most of today looking through old photos and uploading them to share with family.  Each picture is a snapshot of a good memory.  I think my family prided themselves on always capturing the best of times. I couldn’t find anything that triggered a memory of the worst of times.

And then I thought to myself, how is it that those terrible events seemed to have shaken me to my core and resulted in so many nuances and insecurities, but the good memories weren’t powerful enough to stop the crumbling from within? 

I often have to look at old photos to remind myself that things were good. I only have to look within the see how bad things could get.

The end result of reminiscing is that all of these photos have made me homesick for a place that doesn’t exist anywhere but inside my head.

And I miss my dad. And I feel angry that he decided to throw it all away for drugs and alcohol.

I look at those photos of him and he was perfect in my eyes back then. He destroyed all of that and showed me the harsh face of reality long before I knew how to cope with it.

I sometimes wish there was a way he could understand how much he meant to me, how much I long to have any piece of that man back in my life, and how much it destroyed me to watch him destroy himself.  Unfortunately, he’s so far gone that it’s a miracle if he even remembers I’m his child.

And that’s when I think that perhaps I should just let go, but that is easier said than done. Instead, I’ll enjoy these memories for now and then tuck them away for another rainy (snowy) day. These people and places as I remember them no longer exist, they are simply ghosts that haunt me from time to time.

No truer words have ever been spoken: “if dreams are like movies, then memories are films about ghosts.”

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