Just Like You

I never thought I was like you until I got a little older. I don’t really remember you, all thanks to PTSD. But what I do remember are great times.

You took me on holiday, just us. I remember walking down a cobbled street, to a tiny hut selling cockles and mussels. You poured vinegar over them and we sat eating them with a tiny fork. You bought me a little hairdryer for my hair. You made us cycle 19 miles to see a river.

Mom would always moan about having to walk so far, and I did too. I was only young, with little legs. I didn’t appreciate the beauty that was around us and I certainly didn’t appreciate the time I had with you.

It’s only now, at 32, that I realize I am you. I’ve always been you. I make my 4 year old walk miles, just to see the skyline. Just to see the water’s edge. I get him up at 5AM to make sure we’re the first on the beach. I want to see the world, I want to see what you saw.

I’m stubborn. I want better. I want to learn. I want my child to have everything, experience it all. Just like you did for me.

Thank you for what you taught me. Thank you for what I can teach my child. Thank you for making me just like you.

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