Day 02 – Your first love
I started this meme on a whimsy. The older I get the more I want my friends to know all of me and not just writer Paula, priestess Paula, or the Paula that is wife of 25 years or caregiver to her father.
I started my morning at work by reminding myself that I needed to do Day 3 when I got home and maybe take a look at Day 2 again…there just wasn’t something right about what I had posted.
I forgot that Parker now lives in my brain and she loooves picking locks. The lock she picked this morning almost brought me to my knees.
I’ve always liked Robert Heinlein’s adage “The only sin is hurting other people…hurting yourself isn’t sinful…just stupid.” Since I try not to be stupid, I lock away painful memories behind iron doors with strong locks so they won’t hurt me anymore.
After drying my tears, I continued my day’s work until I could get home to revise my post.
When I was in the 5th grade I met Robert. Robert had the face of an angel and the temperament of a Missouri mule. All sweetness until he was tired then the stubbornness set in.
Robert came to live at our house when my parents were approved as foster parents. He was 3 months old with a thatch of blond hair and big blue eyes, and he could not have been more my brother if my mother had given birth to him.
His mother was an alcoholic with a prescription drug problem. His grandmother was caring for the older children and felt she could not take care of Robert because he was born with an underdeveloped larynx, which caused a rattle whenever he breathed. The doctor assured us that he would outgrow the rattle, and sure enough he did.
When I was in the 7th grade, my parents started proceedings to adopt Robert. Things were going fine until the summer before I started the 8th grade. We moved from east central Maryland to my parents’ hometown in western Maryland. Robert came with us since he was going to be ours, but when it came time for Robert’s mother to sign the final papers, she decided she wanted her now perfect little boy back.
Needless to say, we were devastated. That was when I decided that I would never again allow myself to be so decimated by love, and until the age of 28 I kept an ironclad control on that pesky emotion.
25 years later I am glad I followed my pesky heart and married my husband, but I am still wary of who I let inside.