35 Years

35 years.

35 years ago.

35 years ago TODAY.

No, it's not my birthday. My 42nd birthday is coming up.

I wish I could see 35 again.

Not a birthday, but an anniversary of sorts.

Not a happy one... more of a shocking one.

35 years ago today... this happened.

The "Accident".

October 25, 1976.

Not much time goes by when I have thoughts about it. I wish I could not have thoughts about it at all.

But it's something that stays with me. A residue of sorts...

Baggage. Emotional Baggage.

I thought much about it during a Friday night sermon this past summer, given by one of our assistant ministers. He was talking about marital conflict.

And how emotional baggage starts in childhood. Something happens in childhood, and it carries over into adulthood.

Baggage. Big baggage.

I don't know. But as he talked about it, I agreed with his reasonings.

I remember looking around at people, wondering if they had emotional baggage like mine.

I think much about it when watching the news, and it is reported that a woman and child were killed by an abusive boyfriend or husband. It stirs up some old dormant pain that I've swept under a rug laying in the back corridors of my mind.

And I think about it every time I see my mother's reset collar bone. Or the scar from where her jaw had been sliced open.

She never talked to me about it. Life just went on, like nothing ever happened. I don't even think she cared that it was the start of a rip in our relationship...

A relationship that no longer exists.

All my years, after that happened, I have kept an eye on her. At a young age, I knew I couldn't trust her to keep me out of harms way. I always kept an eye on my brother and sister, listened for any sign that Mama's men were trouble.

It pains me to this very day to see a child in a situation where there is conflict in the home, and they are just there... can't leave, can't do anything but watch what goes on...

They can do nothing but watch, and pack their own set of baggage.

It pains me something awful. My pain turns to insidious anger.

And that's not good.

Children see things. They think about things. They ponder... deeply.

But I must tell you. Anytime I get depressed or down on myself, I think of that night.

That night, 35 years ago.

I didn't die that night. My mother didn't die that night. We survived. And we are still here.

I am still here.

And it gives me hope.

I am still here, some 35 years later.

I am still here, right here, right now...

For a reason.

For a purpose.

Even though I can't tell you why... i can't see the reason or feel it at that time, when I am feeling down... I can't hold the reason in my hand, can't feel it, can't smell it or touch it. Can't physically detect this reason.

All I know is: I am here... still here, for a reason.

So.

35 years.

35 years ago.

35 years ago today.

A terrible thing happened.

35 years later.

I am thankful that I am here.

That I simply... am.