I am willing to bet that very few people can remember the exact date and time of their first memory.
My earliest memory was on October 28, 1983 just after 8:06 a.m. I was a few weeks shy of my third birthday and my brother was due to arrive in two weeks. I know it is hard to believe that anyone could have a memory from when they were two years old, but I swear to you I remember that morning.
That's because I was awakened by an earthquake. The Borah earthquake centered near the small town of Challis and registered 7.3 on the Richter scale. It was felt as far away as Salt Lake City and killed two children.
I grew up on the western outskirts of Blackfoot, near Snake River High School, approximately 140 miles from Challis.
My bed was next to my closet and I was still asleep. My closet doors began to vibrate, and at first I thought my mom was just doing laundry, because sometimes the motion of the spin cycle would cause my closet doors to vibrate. But as it intensified I knew that it was much, much stronger than the usual hum that accompanied laundry day.
I remember getting out of bed and running down the hallway into the dining room, and seeing the light fixture above our kitchen table swaying back and forth. I continued down the hall to my parents' bedroom, and I distinctly remember my mom standing next to waterbed (remember those things?) with one hand on her 8 1/2 month pregnant belly and the other on the wooden bed frame. She looked like she was going to throw up, and having since gone through two pregnancies myself I can imaging how she must have felt!
I remember being really scared, my two-year-old mind had no idea what was happening! My mom swears to me that I said "Do it again!" I don't remember that, but that would have been pretty funny. I guess my sense of humor began at an early age.
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Paradise lost
A thousand reachable truths
yet you follow one lie.
This path is best known
to those who are lost.
The air is weighted here.
Hours choke down the minutes
before you've had a taste.
"What ifs" and "could haves"
circle like determined vultures
waiting for you to give.
Not even the water
will take me in here.
But as always it will pass.
Passage will be granted
just before you hit the wall.
Tuesday, January 3, 2017
The stranger in Salt Lake
While most memories seem to have been formed at random moments with no real rhyme or reason, others you know are permanent the instant they happen.
Aria flew back to Kansas City yesterday. She flew by herself for the first time.
We had stayed at Mike's grandparents' house in Roy Sunday night so we would not have as long of a commute to the airport, and I am so glad we did because we woke up at 6 a.m. to about four inches of fresh snow. The roads were nasty to say the least, and a 37 minute drive turned out to be a little over an hour. We watched the sun come up over the mountains . . .
It was surreal. The packing, the drive, waking up before the sun, waiting in line at security. . . She didn't want me to cry at the airport, so I got it all out the night before while getting ready for bed. I hugged her and told her how much we'd enjoyed having her home and the tears started flowing.
But back to the airport . . . we found her gate, and as we stood there waiting for her to get checked in and board another mom with a young girl came and stood next to us. I asked the little girl if she was also flying by herself and her mom answered yes. Not knowing if the girl had flown by herself or not I tried to comfort her by telling her my daughter was also flying by herself and maybe they could sit together.
Aria was so nervous! She couldn't eat breakfast because of her nerves. But, as always she faces everything head on and led the way to the gate and assured me she'd be fine. She's so amazing!
Finally it was time for Aria to board, so I gave her one last big hug and told her I loved her before watching her walk into the boarding bridge. The other mom did the same, and after the girls disappeared from view we both stood there for a moment in a sort of mutually understood silence that only a mother watching her child walk into a situation where she can't provide protection can understand.
I thought about talking to her, but I've been making an effort to avoid striking up conversations with random strangers in public places because of all the cold looks and responses I've been getting, so I refrained.
Then she spoke to me. I can't remember her ice-breaking statement, but we stood there together in the terminal, watching luggage flow up the conveyor belt to the airplane where both or children were now sitting.
She grew up in Missouri but came to Salt Lake City for an internship. She was offered a job in SLC so she stayed, but her ex and her daughter and family were still in Missouri. Her daughter is 7 and had been going back and forth from UT to MO by herself since she was 5. She said that her daughter is used to it by now, that it does not bother her at all, but for her, as a mother it is still very hard for her to put her child on a plane by herself.
She told me her name was Katie, and that she grew up in a very small town in Missouri. There were only 15 people in her graduating class. I shared my story with her, that my daughter's father married a woman from Kansas City and, after about two years of living in Idaho she wanted to move back to MO. We let our daughter choose where she wanted to live, and she decided she wanted to go out there and check it out.
She asked if I has a good relationship with him, my ex, and I told her that it is decent now but it wasn't always that way. She said hers was the same. I felt like I had so much in common with her though we'd barely met. She told me that it was so hard to watch her daughter go, but that talking to me made it easier. I told her the same. She was so incredibly warm and sincere.
After what seemed like an eternity the plane started to head out to the runway. I walked across the hallway to another row of windows hoping to watch the plane continue out, but the view was blocked. I know I will see her again soon, but standing there knowing that she was leaving gave me that sick, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt my eyes get hot and well up again, and as I turned away from the window to walk back down the terminal the other mom, Katie, was walking toward me. She held out her arms and hugged me! Yeah, that made me cry. She told me to have a great day, and it happened so fast I don't know what else she said, but it was so very sweet.
I know that I will never see Katie again, but I will always remember her. She made an incredibly difficult thing easier. Those moments, that human connection and the bond that all mothers share are all priceless.
Sometimes I wonder if people come and go into our lives at just the right time. Most of the time it does not make sense until days, weeks, months or even years later, but sometimes it is blaringly obvious. Maybe not, maybe those moments, those chance meetings are random, but does it matter?
There is goodness in this world, still. There are people who are real, sincere, who are willing to help strangers. I wish I could hold on to that warmth, I wish I could keep it in a jar and pull it out during times when I feel like I am losing all hope in humanity. I wish I could give it to other people who are hurting, who need something uplifting. Why do the moments of good tend to leave us so quickly while the feelings of despair seem to cling like thorns?
Thanks, Katie in Salt Lake. I will pass it on.
Aria flew back to Kansas City yesterday. She flew by herself for the first time.
We had stayed at Mike's grandparents' house in Roy Sunday night so we would not have as long of a commute to the airport, and I am so glad we did because we woke up at 6 a.m. to about four inches of fresh snow. The roads were nasty to say the least, and a 37 minute drive turned out to be a little over an hour. We watched the sun come up over the mountains . . .
It was surreal. The packing, the drive, waking up before the sun, waiting in line at security. . . She didn't want me to cry at the airport, so I got it all out the night before while getting ready for bed. I hugged her and told her how much we'd enjoyed having her home and the tears started flowing.
But back to the airport . . . we found her gate, and as we stood there waiting for her to get checked in and board another mom with a young girl came and stood next to us. I asked the little girl if she was also flying by herself and her mom answered yes. Not knowing if the girl had flown by herself or not I tried to comfort her by telling her my daughter was also flying by herself and maybe they could sit together.
Aria was so nervous! She couldn't eat breakfast because of her nerves. But, as always she faces everything head on and led the way to the gate and assured me she'd be fine. She's so amazing!
Finally it was time for Aria to board, so I gave her one last big hug and told her I loved her before watching her walk into the boarding bridge. The other mom did the same, and after the girls disappeared from view we both stood there for a moment in a sort of mutually understood silence that only a mother watching her child walk into a situation where she can't provide protection can understand.
I thought about talking to her, but I've been making an effort to avoid striking up conversations with random strangers in public places because of all the cold looks and responses I've been getting, so I refrained.
Then she spoke to me. I can't remember her ice-breaking statement, but we stood there together in the terminal, watching luggage flow up the conveyor belt to the airplane where both or children were now sitting.
She grew up in Missouri but came to Salt Lake City for an internship. She was offered a job in SLC so she stayed, but her ex and her daughter and family were still in Missouri. Her daughter is 7 and had been going back and forth from UT to MO by herself since she was 5. She said that her daughter is used to it by now, that it does not bother her at all, but for her, as a mother it is still very hard for her to put her child on a plane by herself.
She told me her name was Katie, and that she grew up in a very small town in Missouri. There were only 15 people in her graduating class. I shared my story with her, that my daughter's father married a woman from Kansas City and, after about two years of living in Idaho she wanted to move back to MO. We let our daughter choose where she wanted to live, and she decided she wanted to go out there and check it out.
She asked if I has a good relationship with him, my ex, and I told her that it is decent now but it wasn't always that way. She said hers was the same. I felt like I had so much in common with her though we'd barely met. She told me that it was so hard to watch her daughter go, but that talking to me made it easier. I told her the same. She was so incredibly warm and sincere.
After what seemed like an eternity the plane started to head out to the runway. I walked across the hallway to another row of windows hoping to watch the plane continue out, but the view was blocked. I know I will see her again soon, but standing there knowing that she was leaving gave me that sick, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt my eyes get hot and well up again, and as I turned away from the window to walk back down the terminal the other mom, Katie, was walking toward me. She held out her arms and hugged me! Yeah, that made me cry. She told me to have a great day, and it happened so fast I don't know what else she said, but it was so very sweet.
I know that I will never see Katie again, but I will always remember her. She made an incredibly difficult thing easier. Those moments, that human connection and the bond that all mothers share are all priceless.
Sometimes I wonder if people come and go into our lives at just the right time. Most of the time it does not make sense until days, weeks, months or even years later, but sometimes it is blaringly obvious. Maybe not, maybe those moments, those chance meetings are random, but does it matter?
There is goodness in this world, still. There are people who are real, sincere, who are willing to help strangers. I wish I could hold on to that warmth, I wish I could keep it in a jar and pull it out during times when I feel like I am losing all hope in humanity. I wish I could give it to other people who are hurting, who need something uplifting. Why do the moments of good tend to leave us so quickly while the feelings of despair seem to cling like thorns?
Thanks, Katie in Salt Lake. I will pass it on.
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