With a high of 88°F for the day, temperatures had settled into the mid-70s, promising a cool evening for the fourth of July fireworks. My mom, and technically me, were all set for the show. She settled into her lawn chair, a cool drink in hand when things began to change.
Eighteen months ago, I was placed on a shelf and watched as humans picked up those around me to take home to their loved ones. I didn’t think anyone was ever going to pick me. Three months later, Irene came along and took me home.
My eyes were fixated on the clock. It read 7:43 a.m. Karla would be knocking on my door soon. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, we walked together to Bessey Hall. She had a class and I went into the Anthropology lab to clean and label artifacts.
I was stretched out on the couch under my bald eagle blanket. I stared at the red numbers on the digital clock and watched it turn to 7:44 a.m. There was a bang on my door. My eyes rapidly shifted to my doorknob. Did I remember to lock the door last night?
On any given day, I carry one of several backpacks with me. Inside is a copy of a letter a friend sent to me last year. It’s a list of reasons why she looks up to me and, on many days, it is a foundation which helps me keep moving forward.
Many people are celebrating the end of 2020 by posting positive things that happened to them during an overall terrible year. As I’ve said before, my new year usually starts in November, but the second half of 2020 hit me a little harder than usual and I’m only now getting around to my thoughts.
I carefully used the point of my trowel to flick away a piece of dirt from the artifact. After I had scraped enough large pieces of dirt with the trowel, I reached over to my kit and grabbed my brush. It wasn’t yet clear what the artifact was, so I gently moved the brush back and forth, clearing away the dirt to get a better sense of what I had found.
Last October during a regularly scheduled checkup with my doctor, we had a discussion about taking medication for my PTSD-related nightmares and flashbacks. I hate taking medications, but she noticed a continued increase of nightmares and flashbacks. I wanted to think about it. I’ve said I wanted to think about it every three months during my checkups.
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