Tomorrow is President's Day, and it's also an anniversary of a day a long time ago that lurks in the back of my mind, always. My mother died on February 18, 1961. I was four.
I often wonder where life would have led me had she never developed a brain tumor---completely different than what I know now. My dad, after her death, remarried and then had three more kids, making a new life for himself and for me. Life is what it is.
I've heard people say that children really don't remember events when they are young--I'll counter that with the fact that I DO remember, and a traumatic event such as a death, abuse, homelessness, a move, or an illness will stay with a child forever. Hopefully, the traumatized child will be resilient enough to move beyond the event as he or she gets older, but I work with lots of kids who need extra boosts and a listening ear from caring grownups.
There's no moral to the story here. This is part of me, and helped make me into who I am.