I can’t believe what I’m reading. I can’t believe you never told me.

I hesitated from reading on, but I couldn’t help it. I spent the rest of the afternoon poring over all the archived pages I could find. I regret not knowing you better. You’re not the same person you were in your youth. Did I change you?

Whatever happened to the smiling girl in the pictures? My favourite was the one with you and dad sharing a Wendy burger. And then there are the blog posts. I must confess it was terribly intriguing to read about your pregnancy of me, day by day, but you really were someone else back then. Radiant, enthusiastic, lively. Happy. You indulged yourself in the simple pleasures of knitting and the whole experience of motherhood seemed a bliss.

I don’t remember much of our old house, and I’d rather not, it still haunts me. After what happened but one memory still remains with me.

I still have them you know, the red mittens.

I’m more confused than ever. Where did my abusive childhood come from? What did I do to you to deserve it?

We were looking for all the pictures of you in the Archives and stumbled upon your public diary circa 2004-2013.

It’s funny isn’t it how I’m recording this now in my diary as you did over 30 years ago in yours, tragically, both without the other.

Thank you for the mittens. Thank you so very much.

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Question for the reader:

1. Did you understand what was happening?

2. If any, what is the significance of this piece?