It's January 28, 2014.
Jan. 28th, 2014 07:08 pmIt's any other day for me. Josh and I went out to lunch at Wendy's. We did errands together - car tag renewal; Josh needed to renew his license, too. I picked up some groceries, mailed some presents to my cousin and my sister.
I came home.
Loaded Facebook.
And suddenly I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.
Today is the 28th anniversary of the Challenger shuttle exploding.
I hadn't realized.
Hadn't noticed.
I wish I could say I feel a huge amount of empathy for those who lost their lives; for the people whose lives were forever changed. And I do. I just have a hard time looking past my own personal tragedy.
During the 11'oclock news on January 28th, 1986, my biological father got up and answered the phone and talked to my mother, who was at work. I should have been in bed; I was only just barely six years old. My birthday had been almost exactly two months before. But I remember turning from where I was laying on the floor in the living room, and looking at the TV. I saw the shuttle explode. I think I remember hearing screaming - I can't make myself watch YouTube videos of the explosion to confirm.
I can't, because after my biological dad got off the phone, he came back and joined me on the floor.
He was naked.
I was naked.
And that night I lost a lot more than my innocence.
I don't know if my abuse happened that night. Maybe it was one of the early anniversaries. My gut tells me I was only six, and mention of the Challenger is a trigger for me. It's burned into my brain.
Don't get me wrong: I am not in pieces. I am not curled up in a corner wanting to know why the fuck this happened to me, why a parent could do such a thing. He's no parent, and shit happens to everyone. I'm just... a little numb. I'm always numb.
But every year I get punched in the face by the memory of the Challenger, I am heavy.
I want to yell and scream and let go of that numbness.
I want to cry.
But I won't give him the satisfaction.
I came home.
Loaded Facebook.
And suddenly I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.
Today is the 28th anniversary of the Challenger shuttle exploding.
I hadn't realized.
Hadn't noticed.
I wish I could say I feel a huge amount of empathy for those who lost their lives; for the people whose lives were forever changed. And I do. I just have a hard time looking past my own personal tragedy.
During the 11'oclock news on January 28th, 1986, my biological father got up and answered the phone and talked to my mother, who was at work. I should have been in bed; I was only just barely six years old. My birthday had been almost exactly two months before. But I remember turning from where I was laying on the floor in the living room, and looking at the TV. I saw the shuttle explode. I think I remember hearing screaming - I can't make myself watch YouTube videos of the explosion to confirm.
I can't, because after my biological dad got off the phone, he came back and joined me on the floor.
He was naked.
I was naked.
And that night I lost a lot more than my innocence.
I don't know if my abuse happened that night. Maybe it was one of the early anniversaries. My gut tells me I was only six, and mention of the Challenger is a trigger for me. It's burned into my brain.
Don't get me wrong: I am not in pieces. I am not curled up in a corner wanting to know why the fuck this happened to me, why a parent could do such a thing. He's no parent, and shit happens to everyone. I'm just... a little numb. I'm always numb.
But every year I get punched in the face by the memory of the Challenger, I am heavy.
I want to yell and scream and let go of that numbness.
I want to cry.
But I won't give him the satisfaction.
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