
I hope everyone has a fun and candy filled day! I'll make sure to post pictures of me in my Betty Boop costume tomorrow.
There's no denying it, I am terrible at math. I always have been and I'm sure that I always will be.
There was a time when my parents and teachers didn't understand why I was so awful with numbers. They simply refused to admit that I just wasn't going to grow up to be the next math wizard. Sadly, I was one of those kids who couldn't add or subtract without using my fingers and toes for help. Then, when multiplication was dropped in my lap, it was an even rougher battle. I remember walking around my house chanting out the 6, 7, 8, 9 times tables and it still not sticking in my head. My mom would call out, "One more lap around the house Leah until you know them by heart!" It was torture! And then we got to ugly, ugly division... forget about that! I was a lost cause indeed.
Finally in 7th grade, my teacher asked my parents if I could be tested to see what was really wrong with my skills. My teacher wanted to know what was the root of my problems. I actually overheard this conversation and it tore me a apart. My mom never knew that. I think they all thought I had some kind of a learning disability. The phrase 'learning disability' sounded awful to me and for some reason, it made me think I was dumb. It also made me feel weak and less smart than all my friends. For one a girl who already wore huge glasses and in middle school, that is the worst feeling ever.
So at the time, my dad was kind of obsessed with student learning styles. For example; should you be studying in plenty of light or a dim room, studying in a cold or a hot room, seeing materials as opposed to hearing it explained. Anyway, my dad thought that I should be given all these tests too to see if I've just been studying and working in the wrong environment for my needs. Turns out, not so much. We did learn that I can't just have things told to me, I need to visually see things. I also can't have music or anything else playing in the background when I'm studying. Honestly, though, I knew all this before those tests.
After several weeks of numerous other tests, they finally concluded that basically numbers in general terrify me. Um, I could have certainly told them that without all those lame and scary tests. Ugh, I hated those things. Just knowing that they were 'tests' was enough to freak me out and not perform well on them. The tests also showed that I needed more time than most to complete math tests. I also made sure that my teacher understood that getting up in front of the class to answer math problems on the front board was absolute torture and if I could be excused from that hell from now on. Thankfully, she took mercy on me and I never had to get in front of my math class again. I was also given a little extra time to finish math tests which I was grateful for.
So, I might not have been exactly labeled with a learning disability but just the possibility that everyone thought that I might have one was enough to make me realize that we all have our strengths and weaknesses. Just don't ever ask me to calculate anything for you without my trusty calculator/an hour of your time. : )
More and more lately, I'm starting to really miss being a 'daughter'. I miss saying, "Mom, can you help me with this?" Or "Dad, what do you think I should do?" I simply miss calling out "Mom" and "Dad". I miss hearing my mom talk to me about my dad and referring to him as "Daddy". It was really cute and sweet. I miss that advice that only a parent can give a daughter. I can't help but wonder, am I still a 'daughter'? Does that role still exist for me? I certainly don't feel like it anymore. Perhaps being a sister, an aunt, a niece and a friend should be enough but it just isn't. I just want to be my parents daughter. I want to overhear them talking to people about their 'daughter', Leah. No one says my name or will say my name quite like them.
I know it's only natural but right after they died, I instantly felt younger than I've felt in a very long time. The independent nature that I'd acquired somewhat in college quickly fell away and I found myself longing to be held, to be cared for, to be tucked in at night and to be told that everything was going to be alright. These are all the things that my parents would do for me. Suddenly, I knew that I was never going to feel as protected as they made me feel and that tore me apart.
3 years may seem like a lot of time but honestly, the hole in my heart is still as empty and painful as the day I found out 3 years ago. I doubt that will ever go away. This may sound odd but there is a small part of me that hopes that hole never heals. I don't want to ever get past their deaths. What would that mean if that were to happen one day? I know that when I fall in love and have children, it certainly will be filled but I hope that I'm never 'ok' that they are gone.
I am incredibly grateful to my sister for always being there for me. She is right there with me through the tears, the sad dreams, the phone calls and for sad days like today. We will be spending the day together as we've promised to do from now on. I certainly can't imagine going through it alone.
I don't want this to be a sad post but more of a reminder to you to cherish your loved ones. Cherish your parents. Cherish your siblings. Cherish your friends. Tell each and every one of them how much they mean to you. If I had one more day to spend with my parents, that's all I would do.