I am from cat clocks with batteries long since run out but never fixed like so much else
that we don’t have time for,
from piles of miscellaneous things we didn’t know if we were allowed to throw away because
Mother had a tendency to keep everything on hand
(even if those objects were buried far beneath more objects).
I am from movie stacks taller than me with box sets of things like “The West Wing” and “Psych” and “Star Wars” and “Indiana Jones.”
I am from the big blue house on the corner with the red double doors that were recently replaced,
the house with a creepy, old feel during the late hours when the shadows fall in ominous shapes
and twists and turns that always confuse new guests.
I am from the two trees that grew along with my brother and sister but not with me as
we never planted mine because I have always been the different one,
and the grand old trees in the backyard that blocked an aerial view of our property
as well as we shield ourselves.
I’m from Tim Allen at Christmas
(but brother always skips the last two)
and faces that could have been carved from the same model.
From Ken and Hilarie and Judy and Howard and adopted sisters.
I’m from volleyball with a rope tied between the sibling trees during blackouts
where Mommy dominated because after all, she had her athletic days too.
(I think this may have been my favorite family memory)
I’m from spontaneous slurpee or desert runs with the siblings
(I remember being so proud once I could finally be the one to drive us),
and from binge watching shows as a family
(one summer, nights were spent watching “The West Wing” and balancing our dinner plates).
I’m from “Chronicles of Narnia” played on loop during long car rides.
I am from strolls in empty halls past wheelchairs smashed up against the walls.
I am from the transition from “parents” to “father and sister.”
I am from welcoming nieces and nephews into our “family” whom I have vowed to protect
because precious things often get broken.
I’m from “is your homework done?” and “don’t forget to feed the cats”
and memorized bible verses recited on Fridays
while wearing dresses because that’s how things were at private schools.
I’m from unspoken words and seething anger buried beneath the surface.
I’m from little Medford, Oregon hidden away in a valley
and faraway Norway and England whose roads I long to travel.
I am from scrambled eggs and hashbrowns when I got home late from practice
(I think that’s where my sleeping patterns first went wrong),
and begging Daddy to make pancakes or French toast because that is my comfort food.
From the lucky family members that have had the chance to travel and instilled a wanderlust deep in my soul
because they got to see France and Haiti and Air Force bases sprinkled in countries I wish I saw stamped on my passport
(if I had one).
I am from secrets and lies because I was never taught an alternative,
after all my grandfather doesn’t even know how to spell his daughter’s name.
I am from disbelief when no one from that side of the family showed to the funeral.
I am from broken relationships I am too scared to repair
because I never learned that taking chances was necessary to life.
From pictures mostly packed away somewhere unknown to me
like so much else.
I am from the unknown
(that is why plans have always been my comfort and I have never liked to hear “just go with it”).
I am from the fear of being alone because I learned far too early that no one is permanent or promised.
I am from a conditioned fear that taught me to be afraid of the nights because everything gets worse then.
I am from nights of contemplating “is it really worth it?”
I am from stress and anger turned into blood.
I am from hearts turned bitter.
I am from selflessness because don’t you know that everyone else is so much more important?
They have so much more to give and so many more smiles to smile.
I am from “it’s going to be okay”
(I hate that phrase now)
and “she didn’t abandon you.”
I am from strategically placed clothing
and tear-stained pillows
and perfected lies when they are needed.
I am from quiet sobs at night
and pencils thrown across the room.
I am from night drives where I am tempted to maybe find myself a place for a nice accident
(but then again, this family already has bad experiences with car accidents).
I am from looks of pity and the worried glances of friends.
I am from “no, I’m just tired” because I don’t know how to explain
an exhaustion that numbs your soul and wears out your body and restricts your heart.
I am from pill bottles hidden in my room because if I can’t fix myself,
maybe they can.
I am from a walk on the beach with a blade in my hands while my friends slept in the truck.
I am from a moonlight hike to a cliff that I should have jumped off of
(and if it was just a little higher, I think I would have)
because everyone would have had it easier without me.
I am from “I am so sorry”
to “I’ll try to be better”
and “you deserve more” when I fail to do so.
I am from all of this and more.