My friend Jared had memories,
bad memories of those early years.
Being handcuffed to his crib.
I then seek my memories,
the early memories.
I see grandmas,
three then I had, four if you remember
great-grandma.
Maybe she is my earliest, memory.
In-home, in Preston Idaho.
A kitchen and a pantry,
a promise of a cookie,
then to be given a Fig Newton.
Fig Newton's are not bad cookies.
They are a prune-like mixture,
surrounded by a sweet breading.
But chocolate cookies, they are not.
How is it that my earliest memory,
is one of disappointment.
I was loved, I knew I was loved.
I was just ignored by my mother,
in a state of perpetual neglect.
She was young, growing up herself.
One of the younger ones in her family home.
Ignored by her alcoholic father.
Only sharing affection, when drunk.
she then shunned physical affection.
This then returning, memories,
bad memories.
My earliest memories, then too,
of being loved.
first then my moms sister, Nancy.
Until the age of 3, she was my mom.
People believed I was her child.
This then no lack of love,
experienced I.
Fortunate then am I,
that I can love and be loved,
by others.
I was always loved,
by them,
my moms brothers and sister.
One pursued adoption,
Thankfully she grew with me,
and in her thirties,
she became the mom I needed.
So grateful I am, that no bad memories have I, of the early years.
Just the dance, with mom, she reached out, and my retreat.
I then reached out, then her retreat.
In the end, the dance was resumed,
each ready for the other and the bonding complete.
