As the past few days have gone by, I’ve realized something–I have repressed many of the memories I have of my life during my freshman year of high school. I found an old diary of mine, and I found myself reading entries and thinking am I sure this was me? I remembered a lot of it, but some things were missing–not just faded, but completely missing from my memory. I find that to be scary, in a way.

I know exactly why the thoughts have faded from my mind, though. I came back to Tennessee during February of my sophomore year, and the memories after that seem pretty clear to me. However, before that, I’m at a loss. I don’t even think of that year much anymore. Well, I do, but the details are missing.

My granny died in August of my sophomore year. She was diagnosed with cancer in May of my freshman year. After the diagnosis, I was in a complete daze, I now realize. I moved along in life without really feeling anything, and that is why I look back and my writing is so completely fake, yet apathetic. I moved to Florida that summer after my freshman year, and I was so completely sad–as well as selfish–that I didn’t let myself love Granny the way I should have while she was sick. I was always complaining about wanting to go home, back to Tennessee. I wanted to go back to my boyfriend at the time (Ryan) and to my friends.

I remember writing, when I did come back, about feeling completely different, changed. I didn’t know exactly when that change took place, and I still don’t know the exact moment. However, it must have been when I was in that daze, when I could feel nothing. My life changed, I changed. Everyone else was still the same, but I changed. So, when I came back and I didn’t want to be with Ryan anymore and all of my friends left me, I thought my world had ended. In reality, it was only beginning. I was growing up.

I still don’t remember details from before Granny was diagnosed. That summer after the diagnosis is hazy, and I can almost remember everything clearly after I came back to Tennessee. I realize something, though. I realize that the thoughts before Granny died, I’ve repressed. Everything after, I remember. That’s no way for me to live. So, I’m trying to remember all of the happy times before Granny was sick. I’m trying to remember helping her cook and going in to her kitchen, hearing her sing. I’m trying to remember that time she baked a cake for me on my birthday–so long ago–and surprised me with it along with a handmade photo album. I’m trying to remember her laugh and her smile and her hugs. I’m trying to remember it all. In doing so, I’ll finally be able to come to the realization that she’s gone, and I’ll finally be able to forgive myself for being so selfish when she was here.