I Remember...

I remember the sweet nostalgia and security of visiting home for the first time after having moved out.

I remember the old, white farmhouse that was almost perfect because I lived there before I began to harbor any kind of bothersome memories.

I remember the kittens in the back shed and how I would sneak out to see them because that was the most rebellious thing that I could think of doing.

I remember going to the emergency room because I had such a severe upper respiratory infection that I couldn’t breathe.

I remember moving twice, each time, losing a little of myself in each previous house.

I remember visiting the drop-in and wondering how many times the people within its walls had moved.

I remember the big-screen tv and thinking that it was bigger than any tv I had ever owned.

I remember him asking me where the clinic was and I remember feeling useless because I had just arrived and I did not know the answer.

I remember wondering what it’s like to fall on difficult times and then recalling my own family’s shaky financial state.

I remember being at the drop-in and feeling a sense of safety and wellbeing in spite of the somewhat dangerous streets outside.