58. Memories

“I don’t know where to start.” I let out a bitter laugh. A myriad of memories were flooding my brain, all bits and pieces from my past. Some highs and some lows, but mostly those that were traumatic. 

“Why don’t you tell me about your parents?” He asked in a low tone. 

My parents. I’d searched for an image of my mother in my mind, but none came to it. I couldn’t remember playing in her arms, spending time with her in the park, having her drop me at school on my first day or putting me to sleep at night. You can’t form a memory of something that has never happened. 

“My mother,” I said, “The only memory I have of hers is of when I saw her pictures in my family albums. She passed away while giving birth to me… I never got to spend time with her.” 

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