Absence makes the heart grow fonder...right?

Forgive me Reader for I have sinned. It's been two weeks since my last confession post.

Oh and it has been quite the week (or two). I think I have felt every range of emotion possible to a human, and I am spent. Normally when we have a run of luck like this, I blog constantly and escape to the internet...this time I couldn't bring myself to even log in, let alone post or read anything.

We had R U OK day here the week before last, which brought up a lot of feelings about the people we have lost. FIL came home from the US and MIL was finally discharged from hospital. It was MIL's birthday and we had some more bad family news. I've had to deal with more and more drama at work, and I had to help my somewhat high maintenance mother move house.

We had our anatomy scan and were told there was possibly a problem. We spent a week trying not to think about said problem. Yesterday another scan showed some improvement and that surgery was not necessary. We all breathed a sigh of relief (never had so many 'likes' on a facebook post).

I completely ignored my email account, my facebook account (other than my personal page), my twitter feed. I logged on multiple times but just couldn't post anything and every single day would just close the browser untouched.

I feel as though I have had somewhat of an emotional crisis and now I have to start building myself back up again. Which is made doubly hard by the fact that I've been sick every day for the past few weeks, and feel as though my pelvis has completely split apart (already! wtf pelvis could you not wait?). It hurts to sit at my desk - not fun when you work in an office. It hurts to move, and walking? Forgeddaboudit!

So here I go, I guess now I tackle my emails (eep) and the thousands and thousands of unread posts in my Google Reader (yikes).

Wish me luck :)

Reflecting on 9/11 - Ten Years Later

Ten years ago, in early 2001, my mother's company put her forward for two different overseas positions. One of them was in New York. I was so excited at the thought that I could possibly move with her and live in such an amazing city. She told me all about the position, how she would be working in the World Trade Center. I had no idea what that was, but it sounded impressive. She didn't get the position, and we kept living our little Australian suburban lives.

Ten years ago I was eighteen years old. I was 20 weeks pregnant with my first child and living on my own for the first time. I woke up on that fateful day around 10am (oh those were the days) after staying up all night reading Tomorrow When the War Began.

I stumbled out to the lounge room, snuggled myself into my sloppy second hand couch and turned on the TV. And wondered what the heck kind of movie they were showing. It looked awfully realistic. I switched channels. There it was again. I flicked over and over listening to the commentary with my mouth hanging open. I thought for a moment that I might still be asleep, dreaming of war playing out the way it had in my books.

I sat there aghast at the sights unfolding before my eyes on the small television screen. I called my mother, who was distraught. A hundred and seventy six employees of her company lost their lives that day. I haven't stopped to think about the alternative. That we may have lost her that day.

Helicopters, army planes and commercial flights often passed over my apartment block. That day every time one flew overhead I was convinced it was the beginning of World War III. I held my stomach, thinking of the world my son would be born into. I was terrified, thinking that there was no way such an event could do anything but herald the beginning of a war.

I was right, partly.

It started a war. Hundreds of thousands of people have died. But the war did not come to my country. I was lucky. So many civilians and soldiers fighting for their country have lost their lives on a continent thousands of miles away.

Today, in New York City, thousands will gather for the tenth anniversary memorial 'celebrations'. I have deliberately left the television off all day, and will continue to do so. We do not need to relive the horror of that day. For anyone who lost anyone that day in September, every image of the twin towers falling is like watching their loved one die before their eyes, over and over. I wish the media would leave it alone.

Today, I am halfway through another pregnancy. So many things have changed. My life has changed. The world has changed.

Today I am thinking of the people who were told not to evacuate the building after the plane hit. The people who died saving those left behind, and the heroes who may die in the future from illnesses that began to ravage their bodies that day, and the days that followed. I am thinking of a New York friend of mine as she remembers what she viewed that day. As she stood and watched the plane fly into the North tower as she stepped out of the subway. I am thinking of every family living without their loved ones. If you have plenty of tissues ready, head over to Nikki's blog and listen to a story that is just one of so many.

Today, my beloved father in law is there, in NYC. I am praying that the day is peaceful and without incident. Just sitting here counting down the hours until he steps off the plane safely in our hometown in a few days time.

a not-so memorable life

I have been asked a few times why I started blogging. I started my first blog nearly ten years ago, when I was pregnant with my first son. I wanted to be able to remember how it felt, and to remember his first years.

Because the truth is, I am unable to hold onto memories. They just seem to fade.

People are so often saying to me "Do you remember that time we [insert something I should remember]?"
My answer is almost always "Um...the time we did what?"

The only 'memories' that I have are the ones I have been told about multiple times, or the ones that are captured in photographs. I have no idea why. I'm sure there's some very interesting science behind it, (if you know of any research let me know) (unless it means there is something really wrong with my brain...then maybe I don't want to know).

When I was a teenager and this lovely little quirk became apparent, my mother became convinced that something traumatic must have happened to me and went on a crusade to get me to a hypnotherapist to find out what it was. I refused, over and over, claiming that if there was something so terrible that happened to me, and my defence mechanism was to block it from my mind, I'd like it to stay blocked thankyouverymuch.

As I got older, and I continued to be unable to remember things that happened to me, I realised it was just the way I am. I'd blame it on my drug use or the hundreds of litres of Jack Daniels I ingested over my dark years, but alas, the lack of memories started before then.

It means that I cannot remember how I felt when I was going through my worst periods of my life, which could be a blessing. Unfortunately it also means I can't remember my happiest times either. Meaning that when I am depressed, I often cannot remember how it feels to be happy and it can make it really damn hard to find my way back. On the upside, it also means that when I am really happy, I cannot remember how it felt to be depressed!

I do, however, have an uncanny knack of being able to recall stupid, meaningless trivia on any given subject. Makes me useless at remembering my own life...but awesome at quiz nights!

Do you have trouble making memories? More importantly, do you know why I do?!