Sweet Innocence

You know what's funny? Time. Well its more ironic than funny, but I've learned to laugh at it because it slips by you in what seems like the blink of an eye. I smile at my reflection, my reflection shows me that time, has caught up to me. The days have passed since I've been able to run up to my father and have him swoop me up in his arms and twirl me and dance with me as if there were music playing and and audience that cheered with admiration and awe. My smile becomes a laugh at the memory, however my gaze grows sad as the realization of that never happening again sinks in heavily. Besides the fact that I am a 27 year old woman, today is the day we lay my father's body to rest. He leaves the world full of memories, but his presence will never leave my heart. His service was beautiful. Despite the sad occasion that bought us here, daddy would be happy that everyone was able to come together to say one last goodbye. Uncle Rick, started sniffling and hiccupping, probably from trying to hold in his cry. I remember when I was about seven years old, I saw him cry over my aunt Felicia dumping him for a mechanic, though I was too young to fully understand what was happening, I do remember aunt Felicia rolling her neck so hard I thought it would fall off and pointing her finger this way and that way as if it were a wand. This cry was nothing like that. I scan the room to see who else is here. I notice my mom hugging herself in a chair, gently rocking herself as if she is coddling a small child in her arms. When my dad was sick in the hospital and had to stay for weeks because he collapsed more than a couple times at his office and sometimes even at the dinner table, mom had the same reaction, only I now this is a thousand times worse. Dad was a strong man. Strong willed and wise, his heart, however was a ticking time bomb, doctors couldn't figure it out, so they couldn't give us how long he would have which gave me great relief. Hearing my dad would only have 6 months to live or something would have made everyone a wreck. I was 5 when Daddy got the news that his heart was a time bomb, I'm glad he got to spend 22 years of his life raising me and loving us. I still feel like that helpless little girl right now however. I feel lost and confused. Hurt. I walk up to my mom and plant a soft kiss on her head. She gives a weak smile in my direction. "would you like some air mama?" I ask her kindly. She nods, I lend my arm to her and as she links, I can feel her knees buckle, not from old age, but because loosing my father has taken a lot out of her. I end up taking her home and to my surprise I was more tired than I thought. My bed felt like a warm soft marshmallow that allowed me to sink in it and float my troubles away. I looked up at the ceiling, gave out the loudest exhale of my life, my eyes feel too heavy to keep them open, so I surrender to their will and close them. Darkness.

*Screams* I jolt out of bed and run into my mom and dads room. I get a quick glance at myself who looks about 10. I can feel it in my chest, I'm terrified. I push forward in my mothers direction who is screaming hysterically. I'm too afraid to lean over and see what she's screaming about. My shaky little hands reach for the covers and as I do my mother, with such force grabs my arm. My heart thumps so loud it's the only thing I hear, I look to her and she looks monstrous. Her eyes are wide and her face terrifyingly old and damaged. She says something but all I hear is my heart. She shrieks even louder, but this time she sounds like my alarm. I forced myself up, body and sheets drenched in sweat, if my bed was a marshmallow it would have melted from the intense heat pouring from my body. My breathing was still heavy from the dream, but thank goodness it was only a dream.

After my shower, I decide to take a walk down 15th street, the joyous feeling of blissful childhood churns my stomach when I hear the school bell. My dad would pick me up after school everyday. I loved that. Mom was a teacher at the school, so every morning we went in together. Dad worked as a journalist for 'Dekota Bay Dispatch' it might sound boring and displeasing but it was the best. When I was 12, he took me downtown with him to do a story on the owner of the 'Castle nova hotel', we discovered all kinds of horrible things, the owner was a racist, "against any 'kind' but his own," he was a creep too. Had minors working in the kitchen almost naked. Daddy got all kinds of hate on that story, but to me he was a pure hero of the people. **BEEEEEEP!!!** the blaring of a horn snatched me back to reality just in time, I almost walked in the road. Focus! I think to myself. I hadn't even noticed the tears that have been dripping down my face at the memory I was just caught up in.

A few months and more than a few breakdowns later, my family and friends held an intervention so I, well they on my behalf decided a therapist would offer better assistance. They tell me that they're worried, concerned, and even fearful of my behavior and attitude over these past months. It's only been 2 months since my dad's passing. You'd think that things would mend somehow, like those families who can continue strong and bold when they lose someone. I was waiting for that moment but it never showed, with every memory I cry and miss my father, other people continue on and I started to get upset, "do they not care I mean truly care enough about my father to stop time, not even for a moment." I hear replay in my ear the argument I had at the dinner table. I agreed to see a therapist, no-less because apart of me did know I got out of control, emotionally withdrawn, careless and shut down. My father wouldn't want this of me and so here I stand in front of a door that reads "Dr. Patricia Dean, psych therapist, hypno-therapist, inner-child/adult therapist". in my mind I take off but I knock instead.

On my sixth visit with Patricia, she came at me with a new idea. "I'd like for us to connect with your inner child." She smiled sweetly at my raised eyebrow slightly dropped mouth reaction when I responded, "my whaa?" She continued to explain what she meant. "The child-like aspect of yourself, doing this will allow us to understand why you are responding in this way, and the best possible way to make you feel safe again." For some reason when she said those words, a hard lump filled my throat, like I wanted to cry. I could feel my eyes flood intensely with tears. When Patricia notices, she swiftly pulled out some soft tissues and patted my shoulder in a comforting manner. I laid back on the couch in her office, allowed myself to relax as much as I could, which still may not have been enough going off the number of times Patricia gently whispered "relaaaaax, you're in a safe environment, you're okay" After awhile my body did begin to settle and flashes of my life quickly flicked in and out of my closed eyes view. "Now focus on my voice." muffled at first then the words of Patricia filled my ears and head. "I want you to try and remember a moment in time where you felt unsafe." I really had to think, with dad around I always felt safe, secure, whole. Then I remember, when dad got threatened several times doing an interview for his story about the secret rape tapes involving all-star coach Denis Mclane. My body begins to twitch and fidget at the memory, Patricia's reassurance puts me back at ease. I explained to her what is happening to the best of my ability. "What did you do to feel safe again, what happened?" The images that were laid out in my mind changed again and in front of me is the memory of my dad hugging me, but not just dad, mom is there and my family. They surrounded me and told me, that I would always have them, "even if we left we would always be there." someone says. I was 13, they gathered around me and placed a hand over my heart and said simultaneously; "right here, we will be." My dad kissed my forehead and said, "as long as you're here, we are here." What feels like a force begins pushing me and I feel like I am thrown in my body, though I never left. Patricia is right beside me, where she has been the entire time, I jump into her arms almost and can do nothing but cry. Happy tears, sad tears, then happy again. I tell her everything that transpired and although I feel amazing afterwards, I still have sessions with her every now and then. Through time I think she will still be a great friend to me.

I write a letter, that includes the date, time and my current age. In the letter I keep it short and sweet. "If you ever feel sad or alone, as long as you're here, we are here."-27