Sunday, July 15, 2012
25th March 2012
It is true that I should have moved on from this part of my life. However, the memories of my mother’s death slowly creep back in my head like ghosts haunting a ruin. Maybe I haven’t gotten of it yet or perhaps I’m avoiding the more painful memories that lie beyond.
In the sober moments of my life memories cut at me like bits of class on naked feet. These are the ones I save for a later date. I know that one day soon I will have to speak of them but when I try my jaw titans and my hands shake.
Shortly after my mother died I was asked to draw a picture of my family with crayons. When I was done I had to tell the therapist who was in my drawing. I have a dim memory of folks who had failed to arrive at my mother’s funeral. There were the closer relations and such. Then the therapist mentioned that I had failed to draw my brother.
He was as missing as the brotherly love that should have passed between us. He was missing like the compassion they should have felt for me. Even as a ten year old there was some part of my mind that knew the truth.
When my omission was pointed out I offered to add Missing into the drawing, but I was told it was all right. The joke was on me, however, because all of those figures would fade. The idea of these folks as family would become so detestable to me that I would have drawn none of the folks in that image other than my mother.
Now I would include you, little sister
Richard Leland Neal