Garden of Memories

Mad Hatter: “In the gardens of memory, in the palace of dreams, that is where you and I will meet.”

Alice: “But a dream isn’t reality.”

Mad Hatter: “Who’s to say which is which?”

Alice Through the Looking Glass

“We meet everyday in the gardens of my memories.”

“I enjoy our time together among the sunflowers.”

“I watched a documentary the other night. I felt as if I was watching our, your, story.”

“Will you share?”

“Of course, but first remember your words, ‘It’s like everyone is seeing how I’ve been feeling this entire time on the inside of my body cause now its affecting the outside of my body. I’ve been falling to pieces for years inside and now everyone can see what I’ve always been feeling. It sucks.’ Remember?”

“I do.”

“In this documentary, a man was describing his story of childhood trauma and finally getting the help he needed. He finally found a doctor who stopped labeling him. The doctor told him, “You are this way because of something that happened to you. You have a story that’s not been diagnosed.” He was told the labels didn’t make sense, trauma victims blame themselves, and the arch enemy, the fiend is the truth, but your reality is not allowed to be seen and to be known, and that is the true trauma. I cried because he was describing you. So many memories flooded back. Memories of desperately searching for someone, anyone, who would stop labeling you, who would see you, listen to you, help you heal. Then the words that it’s not mental illness but mental injury…”

“You okay?”

“No, not really. I thought there was time, I thought we’d have time…”

“It’s okay now, momma.”

“Yes and no. A friend said to me, “God answered your prayer to heal her, just not in the way you wanted.” A hug, your hug… just one hug… you always said I gave the best hugs, but really it was you who gave the best hugs. I miss your hugs most of all because they were so complete, so full of unconditional love.”

“We shall hug again…”

“I know, my precious daughter. You weren’t mentally ill, your were mentally injured. Doctors who prescribed drugs only hurt you more because those drugs didn’t help you, they hurt you more by altering your mind. I wish I could go back… I would tell that first doctor to go to hell. I’m sorry I trusted him, a doctor who didn’t care about you in a system that cared even less. I’m so sorry.”

“Momma…”

“I know, how could I know? It doesn’t really help though when I’m trapped in the garden of memories.”

“Momma?”

“Yes?”

“Remember?”

“Remember??”

“I sent you a picture with the words, “God is restoring everything the enemy has stolen!” I wrote, “You know those days where you think God forgot you and you can feel the pain crushing you and then something catches your eye cause it’s not in the ordinary of your things? I read this the other day during one of those moments and I think it’s great. 🙂 I hope it helps you too.” God has restored to me everything the enemy stole because I’m whole now. It’s His promise to you as well. I love you momma.”

“I love you to the moon and back, to infinity and beyond.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you the most.”

“I loved you first.”

“You are missed, my darling. You were never a burden, by the way. A thousand bad days with you are better than a perfect day without you.”

“I’m still with you…”

2 thoughts on “Garden of Memories

  1. Yvonne, you have captured such pain and beauty and love and heartache and healing in these words. So precious, my heart is praying for you now.
    Rhonda Currier

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