My step dad and I were out on the small deck and I can still feel the rush of the wind and the terror in my bones as he tossed me higher and higher in the air. I was giggling and screaming for him to stop at the same time. It was exhilarating and terrifying.
I can remember the feeling of love and comfort in his arms as he would catch me. I would rest my head on his chest and hear him talk. His voice rumbles from his chest into my ear as I hear him talk about work and plans for our new house. The one my Papa built.
I was three. My life was just beginning and my memories just starting to form. My memory is like a patchwork quilt inside my head made of colors and images sometimes little clips of what felt like out of body experiences. I can see myself flying into the air. I can see myself curled up against the wall crying or screaming down the hallway.
If I can remember little things, meaningless things; why can I not remember an appointment that's been scheduled or to put my sons homework in his back pack? Sometimes to even flush the toilet.