I am not that 9 year old

I am not that nine year old.  Even though they are me. 

That girl, that sleeps like a deep winter hibernating animal, woke up at 1 am to banging and screaming.  She and her brother ran to their bedroom where shit was flung everywhere.  The cops are on their way.  We stand at the door, looking at it, and wait.  “Does he have a gun” is the first thing they say.  It’s a blur.  We go to our uncle’s house an hour away.  Mom goes to the hospital.

We wake up at 4 am during spring day light time change week so it feels like 3.  Mom drives in parking lot style DC traffic to take us to elementary school. We stop at the same fast food place every morning.  It’s a treat cause we can’t ever afford that food.  By the end of the week, one lady behind the counter waves us to a closed register.  She opens it and places our order without us needing to say anything.  She knows.  And I’m grateful for good people.

One day that week I get to stay at our neighbor’s for the night.  They drive up the street and tell me to duck so I won’t be seen.  What kind of mind twist does that give a kid?

My “trauma” aka life experience has been easy compared to many.  There wasn’t anybody shooting or dropping bombs. And still, it was my childhood experience.  Mom instilled resilience in us cause she had mustered extra for herself.

The story of that night became the starting point of my life story. I wallowed in it. I didn’t grieve the life I lost and couldn’t remember, literally.  I shut it down with this new starting point.

It’s taken many healer hands and self study, many guides and friends, to help me remember the magical five year old that also lives in me.  The one that was gregarious and curious.The one who knew the world was made for her and all the fantastical dreams she would vision..

The 9 year old and the 5 year old have been having lots of conversations in the background.  I’m not sure if my awareness wants to know what they are talking about.  I’m rooting for the five year old.  Hoping she’s offering strong debate to balance her younger years against the nine year old. 

I am not that 9 year old, neither am I the 5 year old.  I am both and I am also this 50 something year old who is also not the true me waiting to be seen again in the moments of remembrance.