Coloring
To begin this story and end it would be so simple. This page could remain blank—empty and void of words. This story is about just that. I have no memory from age five and younger, and there are gaps that stretch until my teenage years. Even now, in my late adult life, I am drawn to those blank pages, wondering what once filled them.
These missing years are called the formative years of life. What happens during these years defines your later childhood life and determines how you will react and interact with humanity. As of late, words are bringing healing to my life. As many of you know, for more than four years now, therapy has been a big part of my life. I am discovering that building relationships and cracking the door on new emotional experiences is helping to color in these blank pages in my life. Still no memory, but it’s encouraging me to do more with my immediate family, my grandchildren, and those in my inner circle. I’m not venturing out any further than that.
New relationships are a stretch for me; crowded rooms of people are complex, and places in general can be taxing to my mental well-being. I have grown over the past years to smile, make eye contact, and even offer a handshake and a hug now and then.
Why now, at my age? Well-meaning people have told me to deal with it and blank it out. The advice I receive most often is to just give it to Jesus. The blank pages have been there for so many years, and I was okay with that until I realized that this was much bigger than me. These pages are much like the tapestry I wrote about, parallel somehow. I think for the most part, the tapestry is about putting pieces in the right place and adding to the project of life until it’s complete, finished or not. This story is defined by the lines drawn on blank pages and the colors that are placed in the lines. They give a clear picture of the time and the event, be it a new memory or one that is just outlined in my mind.
As the unlocked memories become visible, the lines are slowly growing into a full-blown remembrance. Some are endearing, and some are haunting and difficult to deal with. They don’t come at one time; it’s extremely slow. To give you an idea of how slow, this story started more than two years ago. It’s been sitting on my homepage, open with the first paragraph somewhat outlined. I just picked it back up today.
After I finish a story like the last one, Behind The Eyes, I enjoy a moment and sometimes weeks of freedom from the pain, the words, the energy, the mental toll, and the expression of my humanity. It’s peaceful here. Then I look, search, feel, and see the eyes of the hurting and the smiles of those in pain, and I must write. I must start to draw the lines of memories. Colors are in my hands, wanting to become life inside my mind. I must let it happen. Every story has a purpose, and sometimes I’m never sure who needs to read it. It’s mostly just for me.
As of late, I have been awakened to deep memories in my soul. I’m not even sure if they are real or not. Some are of tender hugs given by my mom as she said goodbye to my brother and me for the last time. When we were removed from our home, she dropped us off, kissed us on our foreheads, and said, “I love you.” Then she disappeared. These lines are now being colored in with beautiful colors of love. I know you are wondering how my mother could do this. You didn’t experience the environment of our home, the torture done to her, and even worse, the torture done to us. I’m not talking about abuse; I am talking about torture. I hope to color these pages in soon. I have outlines, and I am starting to see the real life we lived in the darkest of times and the battles we faced. These lines are beginning to connect, and to be honest, I’m not sure if I want to see these memories.
For the sake of those who are coming behind me, I must color these lines in, beautiful or dark; they must be forever written. The beautiful seems the easiest to color in. The lines that outline the dark are too bold, and the colors are even darker.
For the sake of triggering those who may not need to know what’s in the bold lines, don’t worry, I will handle this with care, and you will understand what I’m saying. It’s healing that brings colors to these lines. We need to color in the good memories and the bad ones to bring closure.
I learned something recently when we took our grandchildren out to eat. The kids’ menu came with coloring pages, and as they began to fill in the outlines, we joined them. To be honest, I was not interested in this activity, but they seemed to be excited about completing this picture. I saw the outline and already knew the outcome, but they wanted to color, so we did. As we colored together, I realized something: an outline alone is just that—an empty framework, waiting to be filled. It’s the color that gives it life, meaning, and joy. Without it, the picture, and perhaps the memory, feels incomplete.
No matter the energy, no matter the lines, or the boldness of the lines, we need to color in the picture. It’s what brings the truth into existence. This is living water to our souls. Let the thirsty come. Let those who need to color come. Let those who want to color come; the blessing is in the coloring itself. Every stroke brings life to the bold lines and brings peace and healing to us who need to complete a picture—a memory that needs to escape the mind, cherished or dark. The awesome wonder of our mind was never meant to remain in black and white lines. So, color! It’s okay to color. You have time!
