Trauma and Its Consequences

+WHY I SHARE THESE PIECES OF WHO I AM NOW — BECAUSE I COULDN’T THEN?

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HERE ARE SOME LINKS TO NEWLY UPLOADED PHOTOGRAPHS FROM MY CHILDHOOD:

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*Age 10 – Picture of my brother John and me

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*Age 3 – 3 children with grandmother, closeup of me and grandmother

1955 Linda closeup with grandmother in front of the Glendora, (L.A.) house before Alaska - I was 3
1955 Linda closeup with grandmother in front of the Glendora, (L.A.) house before Alaska – I was 3

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*1959 – The jeep road leading from Eagle River road into the valley

*1959 – Children in the homestead snow

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*1960 – Precious picture dad, John, Cindy, Sharon and a wheelbarrow of seed for the fields

(I wish I was part of the family in this picture — where was I for this big event?)

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*1960 (circa) Mom planting the fields

*1962 – Log house nursery

*1963 – June 11 – Family Portrait

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*1963 5 kids and mom by cabin (possibly on trip to Santa Fe)

1963 just turned 12 -- and so sad -- I KNOW this sadness, it's rarely ever left me it was so made a part of who I am in this body.
1963 — I had just turned 12 — and so sad — I KNOW this sadness, it has rarely ever left me. Sadness was built into my body from the time of my birth. This is what it looked like when I was nearing the threshold to cross into my womanhood.

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*1965 – Tucson rented house on Hawthorne St.

*1967 (circa) Dad and the red Toyota

*Adding wood ends onto the Jamesway (circa 1968?)

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*Poem my father wrote to my mother

*Two pictures of Bill and Mildred together

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*My Childhood Guardian Angel on the Mountain Top

It was to this mountain and to this land that I formed a secure attachment.  It was this place, this land and all that lived and moved and breathed on and around it that I loved.  This place was the heart of my heart, and this Angel on the Mountain was the heart of my heart’s heart.

My Angel on the Mountain. She has her wings spread out to her sides, her long white gown draping over the mountain. Her head is tipped slightly to her right. She has a halo. I could never as a child imagine anything or anyone more beautiful. If my mother had imaginary friends, and me her imaginary enemy -- if she was completely mixed up on who and what was real, and could not tell her children from her dolls of play ---- WELL perhaps who am I but my mother's daughter -- because I HAD an angel, not a pretend angel, not an imaginary angel -- I HAD AN ANGEL. She was MY angel. Right there on that mountain top.
My Angel on the Mountain. She has her wings spread out to her sides, her long white gown draping over the mountain. Her head is tipped slightly to her right. She has a halo. I could never as a child imagine anything or anyone more beautiful. If my mother had imaginary friends, and me her imaginary enemy — if she was completely mixed up on who and what was real, and could not tell her children from her dolls of play —- WELL perhaps who am I but my mother’s daughter — because I HAD an angel, not a pretend angel, not an imaginary angel — I HAD AN ANGEL. She was MY angel. Right there on that mountain top.

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This is just a picture, and a poor one at that, my mother took of some old trapper's cabin. But I look at it, and I think, "If I could step into that place, and still have access to people I love, I would be in the closest thing to heaven I can imagine on this earth." Yet, at the same time, I don't think heaven is more than a passing flash here on earth -- whatever it is, I think (and hope) it comes later.
This is just a picture, and a poor one at that, my mother took of some old trapper's cabin. But I look at it, and I think, "If I could step into that place, and still have access to people I love, I would be in the closest thing to heaven I can imagine on this earth." Yet, at the same time, I don't think heaven is more than a passing flash here on earth -- whatever it is, I think (and hope) it comes later.

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