Loss
Memory is a funny thing. A person can remember a tragic event but can never really manifest the emotions, especially the pain, felt at that moment. I am thankful for this selective nature of the mind, body connection. I am thankful I will never again feel the excruciating pain which accompanied the news on that sunny summer afternoon. The day is clearly branded in my mind. Closing my eyes now, I see myself at twelve years old sprawled on my bed. Lazily, I watched Saturday morning cartoons. Eager sunrays peaked through the curtain-covered window above my head. I made a silent promise to myself and partially to the golden day; I would take a ride around the neighborhood on my bike that afternoon. I would bring some life to the seemingly uneventful day. Shortly after laying out this tentative plan in my mind, I heard an outraged voice coming from somewhere in the house. The voice was a familiar one, my mothers voice. I dismissed the noise as her reaction to some new gossip she was probably receiving via telephone from a “neighborhood spy”, as I referred to them.