After waking up from a nap when I was about five years old, I could not find my security blanket, Old Faithful. After a fruitless search on my own, I asked my mother where she was. Nothing in my short life could have prepared me for the answer I received.
“Gone. I threw her away.”
The answer “GONE” was the singularly most shocking thing I had ever heard in my five years on this earth.
I was unable to answer, my eyes growing wider and wider. Looking back, I believe the correct term for my condition was Shell Shocked.
“You are a big girl. You do not need her anymore.” My mom continued. “I threw her away. You will be fine.”
(I emailed my mother this post before I uploaded it to the Internet for God and Country to see, and she said this: It was not an easy decision on my part but you were in kindergarten with front teeth that were going to make an orthodontist rich.
This is what I ask: two images , one of how you saw OF (power and strength) and how I saw OF (dirty germ laden pile of rags).
And stop blaming me for your therapy!)
At the very least, Old Faithful deserved a dignified Burial At Sea. She had been my most trustworthy companion for five years! She had stood (laid?) beside me through it all. We had started preschool together. We had stood together, sisters in solidarity, when my middle sister came home from the hospital. I was her FAVORITE!
At the depths of my despair, a terrible realization came over me. The person who was responsible for this egregious breach of trust was my own mother! How could she?!
I remember fleeing from the room, wailing loudly for my fallen best friend. I found my backup Old Faithful, and while she did offer comfort, she just wasn’t the same.
My mother did win that round as I gave up my special lovey. And, thanks to years of therapy, I can look at a blanket without breaking down. KIDDING! The offing of Old Faithful did scar me, and I would be lying if I said I still didn’t have a tiny grudge against my mom for her literal EXECUTION of my blankie. I did live to tell, and now I feel like the score is evened up a little bit- my mom might have broken me of my attachment, but I get to write about it on the internet for everyone to read! (Note to self: do not encourage Emma to blog…)