This is my response to a prompt from Write on Edge. I have several memories that I could have written about but most I can't put on paper at this time. This is the one I felt I needed to write about for now.
This week we asked you to explore your worst memory.What was it? How did it affect you? What would you have done differently, if anything? We wanted you to imagine the act of writing it would free you from it.
Some of you have memories too personal to share. We understand, and we are grateful for those who are sharing with us.We are a supportive community here, and I am sure that will continue as we read and comment on your pieces.
She told me she remembered. I didn’t know she knew.
My daughter shared with me about the time she sat outside the bathroom door crying. Me, I was inside in a bathtub full of water. The door locked, the water hot, the steam billowing up, the mirror fogged.
I longed for another place and time. I wasn’t sure where that place and time was but I didn’t want to be there.
I longed to disappear into the air just like the steam. Invisibility would be best for me.
How heartbroken I was the day she told me she knew why I was in that room of despair and defeat.
I admitted that her fear was real. I did not want to go on. I lay in that tub contemplating if I could actually do it. Time lingered on and she said she waited. She knocked. I don’t remember. She asked me if she could come in. I don’t remember. Memory slips during depression. I do remember why I didn't do it. She and her little brother were my reason for living.
My little girl was frightened she would lose her mommy that day and I was unaware of it. The memory of that day is vague but the memory of her tears as she recalled how scared she was at the time is fresh in my mind and heart. I am sorry for the pain I caused but I am thankful she finally shared it with me just a few years ago. We found opening up, being real and transparent is when healing begins.
My beautiful daughter is now 27 years old, a middle school teacher and in the process of working on her doctorate two nights a week. I am proud of what she has accomplished but I am in awe of who she is becoming. And I know hard experiences like this one helped make her the strong, compassionate woman she is today.
As for me I have found my identity and finally realized God's love for me is real and alive inside my soul. This is the truth that makes me whole. Does depression ever creep up on me sometimes? Yes but I know truth. I take meds. I have friends and family who know where I've been, some have been there too, and they accept me anyway. This keeps me sane.