Funny how they still bring me to tears

When I think of my childhood and time with my parents I mostly remember how much I use to cry. I know it would be honorable of me to only remember, or write about, the good times now that they are gone but those are too painful to conjure up and actually find words for. Hopefully, those happier memories will have a more glorified moment other than a blog I'm writing at 2am...

I have always been super emotional and sensitive which is something I was frequently reminded of. But my parents had this uncanny power to bring me to tears. Especially my father, on the first note of his anger my heart would race and the tears started. By the time he stumbled through everyone else's name to mine, in that way parents do when they are so angry they forget your name, I was in full blown hysteria and banished to my room. But I never really escaped. Hiding under the covers didn't mask the sound of disappointment in their voices.

Now, I sit in my room in that familiar soggy way, years later and too many miles away they still bring me to tears. Much like it was when I was younger, I did nothing to deserve this outburst of sadness. It just happens, uninvited and shameless. No one can fix it. My stuffed bunny, who was and still is my best confidant, can help absorb the drops of pain but as much as I'd like to believe, it doesn't hug back.

Hugs were something that was absent from my youth. I'm sure my parents hugged me when I was really little. I can imagine me being upset because I was physically hurt, probably from my brother's shenanigans or my pure klutziness. They'd rush over to me and scoop me up into their arms and hold me until the crying stopped and all was calm. I can't actually remember such an event but I trust that it had to have happened at some point when I was 4 or 5. I wonder when I became too old for that kind of comfort.

Of course, they were not the worlds worst parents and I was not a gold child by any means. But hugging isn't something I can miss from them because I don't remember the feeling. But I would give anything to hear them yell at me again. I wouldn't even care if my Dad called me the wrong name.