Flashback Friday
I’ve shared the below picture in a post at some point in the past. It came to my mind the other day as I read posts from my online knitting friends who live in the northeast. They were sharing pictures of the doors to their houses completely covered by snow from the blizzard that came through. There was discussion of this blizzard versus the famous one of 1978 and the differences between the two. For us in North Carolina, we compare all snow to the one we got in January of 2000. We got about 20 inches then, which is practically unheard of for my part of the state. Maybe in the mountains, but certainly not in the middle of the state where I live.
I can’t look at this picture and remember the snow without also remembering what was happening inside the house at the same time.
My oldest sister had given birth to my nephew just a few months prior. He was two months early and various circumstances and complications brought her to our house from Ohio after he was born. The atmosphere in the house while she was there was horrible. We all acted terribly and I believe truly that it was my father who stirred the controversy. My sister is my half sister. We don’t have the same father. He treated her just as badly as he had treated me for most of my life.
Things got dark. My mother was what we all had in common and who we all reached out to for help. That is, until her own battle with mental illness caused her to attempt suicide. She gave up. And when she was in the emergency room, she told my father to do whatever he wanted to fix the situation. His solution only benefited him. That day ranks as one of the worst in my life. And it happened only a few weeks after this picture was taken. It’s hard not to connect the two.
I’ve seen posts lately on social media that ask what you would say to your younger self if given the chance to deliver a brief message. Looking at this picture and remembering what was happening behind the camera makes me want to tell this girl, simply, it gets better. Because it did. Not immediately. It got worse before it got better. But she doesn’t need to know that. She just needs the promise of knowing the suffering eventually ends. And there’s a happy ending to her story. Even though it’s not over yet.
And that’s my message to everybody. As always, whether if you’re currently suffering or know someone who is…it gets better. I promise. Just hold on a little longer.
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