Mittens

The first time I remember being forgotten, I thought it was funny. My mom thought my dad was going to get me and my dad thought opposite. I didn't care who was at fault, I cared that I got home and ate dinner.

The second time I was older. I was content being alone. After three or four hours my feelings changed. My enjoyment turned to fear and my sadness to anger. What kind of parents forget their own child? Forget their only child?

My dad forgot me first. He forgot that I was human, that I existed. He replaced me first with reading material, then moved onto the computer, and later to a different life. A life that doesn't include me...except when it's time to pretend to be a family. He became a holiday father. Love can be a gift, but not if you buy it.

Although I've been forgotten by her many times, she's never forgotten me completely...but it's coming. I can feel it the way you feel the air freeze before the first snow. In the beginning there is only the slightest tinge of frost, then it comes on so quickly that the world turns to ice and you stand there frozen without your mittens. I know it's coming; but I am unprepared.

I've survived being forgotten so many times, watched as friends turned away and words faded to ash. I too have forgotten. What happens though...when the child is left behind? Turned into a distant memory, if even that? I need to know so I can be prepared.

I need to meet the cold with my mittens on.

Hello Possible Reader (Good Luck)

Hi there, it's been awhile. It's funny how the world can suddenly become so busy, not Book of Mormon funny, but more this is so funny I need a shot of Novocaine because life is hurting me so much...maybe that is BoM funny. Anyway, I suppose I should update you on my life...if anyone is actually reading this.

[Insert Daveed Diggs meme, "What'd I Miss]

I'm not actually going to include that photo. A Hamilton meme on a Broadway obsessed blog, too predictable. 

In May I graduated college and promptly started a job that in no way compliments my major. I'm living at home with my mom which means I have watched almost every show on Netflix twice and have not gone out on a Saturday night in three months. And I suppose in many ways, I'm exactly where I was when I started this blog.

Confused. Wandering. Scared. And always, hopeful.

How often these four seem to be found together. The hero is always lost, scared, confused, but has hope for a brighter future. Name any YA novel and I bet that will be the plot. Maybe we are all living our own novels and we are just searching for the strength to flip the next page.

My next page starts tomorrow; I'm going on an adventure and I'm making the next chapter of my life.

Screw the third person narrative. This is my biography and I'm going to take charge.

A Poem My Mother Will Never Read

She says she'll never forget me,
that a mother always knows.
But I've seen her lose keys, wallets, and names in seconds
I know how this routine goes.

Will she remember me when she can't find her house?
Will she still know my name when the laughter fades?
Or will I slowly become a stranger, an almost familiar face -
a person, almost to be remembered if only she could lift the shades.

Forever is an awfully long time,
especially for the forgotten.
There was hope and dreams and sadness,
but the memories soften.

Everyday is unknown, every hour a puzzle
 and every second a mystery.
What will happen next, how long does this last -
who can say how long forever can truly be.

This poem...just words, attempts to control my fear.
Rhymes and lines, dying to express how much I need you here.
Fear doesn't matter, the end is always coming, ever near.
What is most important is what I do with today
Right now, this second; this is the memory most clear.