1957 White Ford Thunderbird

<>

"What are you so happy about?" I asked Aunt Julie whose excitement was confusing me.

Instead of answering me straight away she sat me down on a couch with a nostalgic look and held my hands motherly before finally speaking.

"Did your Dad ever tell you that you have your mother's eyes?" She asked with a soft sad smile.

She didn't wait for me to answer, probably because she knew the answer to her question. She resumed, "Of course not. He did his best to remove any mention of her from his life. That was his way of dealing with his grief."

What about my grief? I wanted to ask but I chose to listen.

She was right, no one was allowed to talk about Mom in our house. I was never allowed to ask any questions. Aunt Julie tried her best to fill that hole in my life but for a ten-year-old girl, no one could replace her mother. I barely had any memories of her either. The psychiatrist had told Dad that it was a form of PTSD. I don't remember what the trauma exactly was, but apparentl