Do Not Be Afraid

 Response to prompt "Flashbulb Memories"

This is not at all what I was planning to write about.

But the events of the past few weeks have caused a major change in me. And not all good.

Yesterday I was so distressed before work I thought I was having a nervous breakdown.

But I pulled it together and went in because, well, what choice did I have? 

Fortunately my dear friends had given me a new journal that I keep in school and so I've been pulling it out and writing every time I start to feel lost, alone, unsupported, demoralized...

And yesterday some words came to me that have been a comfort since a flashbulb moment from almost 30 years ago.

*

It was late June 1993 when my husband blew his back out and had to have surgery. His doctor was already talking about the possibility of having to go on disability. We had a fairly new house and a lot of debt and I was terrified and under a major amount of stress. Seeing him in pain added to my anxiety.

On the evening of June 29, I had an aching head and so much fear in my heart I found myself crying out to the Holy Spirit for help.  And this is what I heard:

Yesterday when writing in my journal about how I feel my teaching life is being stripped away, these words started flowing out of my pen.

This morning I recited these words to myself as I took a short walk in the neighborhood. This message never fails to fortify me.

I am forever grateful for the flashbulb moment that brought these words of comfort to me. And though I despise my current situation, it reminds me I have mighty helpers looking after me.

Wait

 Response to Prompt #68: Flashbulb Memories

I identified my flashbulb memory early on. It's one I've thought about many times but never captured in writing. Such quick "flash" of memory, so visceral. It took me a couple of days from start to finish and I'm not even sure in which format/genre it belongs. I shared it in two ways because the process was interesting. It started as a poem- which tends to be my go-to. But I got stuck and left it for a day or two. I just couldn't get past a certain point but knew it wasn't finished. Today, I came back to it and thought maybe it's not a poem. I backed all the lines up, made a few tweaks for grammatical purposes and started thinking about it as a micro memoir. Then I finished it, and decided maybe it was a poem, and just thinking of it as a complete moment in the form of a micro helped me get it done. Not sure! Either way, I'm pretty sure it's done. Interested to hear whether it's better read as a poem or a micro memoir.

Wait

a poem by ljkemp

I remember still, that moment in the doorframe 

naked in more ways than one,  flushed with energy and insecurity.

You stopped me, a tender reminder to be present. Wait. 

My bare feet grounded to the floor, my toes pressed into the cold tile. 

A pivot, my disheveled locks tossed over my shoulder. I tried 

to return your stare but looked past you feeling young and exposed. 

We were both young and exposed, in all the right ways. 

I just want to look at you. And I could feel the warm glow 

of the bathroom light outlining the curves of my body 

while I obliged for just a few seconds. Moments like these 

would come along again and again through the years. 

Thirty years later I still wish to see my body as you do, 

to love it as you do. To stop myself while passing a mirror to say, 

Wait, I just want to look at you.

Wait

a micro memoir by ljkemp

I remember still, that moment in the doorframe naked in more ways than one,  flushed with energy and insecurity.You stopped me, a tender reminder to be present. Wait. My bare feet grounded to the floor, my toes pressed into the cold tile. A pivot, my disheveled locks tossed over my shoulder. I tried to return your stare but looked past you feeling young and exposed. We were both young and exposed, in all the right ways. I just want to look at you. And I could feel the warm glow of the bathroom light outlining the curves of my body while I obliged for just a few seconds. Moments like these would come along again and again through the years. Thirty years later I still wish to see my body as you do, to love it as you do. To stop myself while passing a mirror to say, Wait, I just want to look at you.