This is the first time I have ever written the whole of Ron's story in my life. I don't think I have it in my journals. I tend to stop journalling when life gets too stressful - times when I can't handle how hard reality can be.
I realized yesterday that I have blocked from my mind the day and year that Ron died. I am not sure if it is 6 or 7 years ago. I know it was June. That's all.
The campground where Ron parked his camper is along a beautiufl river. A year ago this past fall we borrowed my in-laws camper and spent a weekend there. Although we had driven past the campground and thought of Ron every time we had never spent any time there since his death.
The first night there I had a dream about Ron. In it I could see his impish grin staring back at me from his six year old body. Yes, in my dream Ron was about six. The age he was when his parents dropped him off at a children's home and drove away. That was part of his story - part of the reason for his pain. When I woke from the dream I was able to see that Ron never healed - that he had always remained that six year old child in his head. It helped me let go and forgive him a little. There are times when I am still p.o.'d that he didnt reach out his hand. That what he constantly preached at me he didn't heed. I try to remember that I am not much different. That when I give someone advice I need to be telling it to myself as well.
I need to remember to reach out a hand.