I have fibromyalgia and my memory is garbage. I used to know weird facts that I couldn’t forget. I could spell any word and remember lines from any movie from just watching it once.
Now, I forget how to spell the very simple word the. I can’t recall what day it is and have struggled with many more things but I just can’t remember what all that is.
Which makes writing historical romance a difficulty when I’m trying to remember a historical fact that has flown from my mind. So I’m looking up things a great deal and repeatedly.
But I have a memory from my childhood that is my first one. In case you don’t know I am an Air Force brat. When I was about three years old, the Vietnam War had ended. And the soldiers were returning stateside. If you are old enough, you may remember that some American people treated these soldiers–let’s say badly. People spat on them, called them baby killers, and sneered at these men at the very least.
Anyway, I was in Hawaii and the men were landing at Hickman Air Force base and my family–my dad, mom, brother and I–went to welcome them home. I remember sitting on my father’s shoulders with a small American flag in my hand that I waved about with glee. A helicopter landed and downtrodden, war-weary men stepped out. They hung their heads and on each of these men’s faces was a look of pure sadness, defeat, and something that I can only describe a crushed soul. They gave a half-smile and a nod of greeting as the adults said, “welcome home” and gave them supportive cuffs on the shoulder or back.
These many years later, I can never forget those men or those looks. It was seared into me. I didn’t understand the reasons for their demeanor but I knew that they were hurt–not physically but somewhere deep inside where some many who serve this nation have packed away their memories and emotions of fighting a war.
No matter that fibromyalgia is moving around the marbles in my head, I can never forget this memory. It is a part of me. And I’m thankful for it.
What is your first memory? Come on, tell me. After you do that don’t forget to check out the other blogs taking part in the #MFRW 52 week blog challenge.
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Mageela Troche 
What a heartbreaking first memory! Mine is of toddling across my grandmother’s kitchen to wipe my cookie crumb-dusted hands on my grandfather’s baggie trousers. He grinned down at me and said, “Oh, Rhonda,” and everyone laughed. He died shortly thereafter. Apparently, he was a right wanker, so I’m glad I have that memory of a sweet moment with him.
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That is so sweet. I’m sure that it so vivid for you that you can be taken back to that time. For me it’s our memories that keep our loved ones still with us.
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Thank you for sharing that, Mageela, and for the reminder about what the men and women in our armed forces go through. My dad was a Marine and growing up we learned right away to respect the military. One of my first memories? Picking tomatoes with Dad in our garden. I was probably about 2 years old.
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