A Day to Remember

When I was a kid, I wanted to be many things. Still to this day as an adult, I'm constantly discovering new passions. One thing that has always remained constant, however, was my love for words. For story-telling. I read as often as I could, getting lost in fantasy worlds, feeling feelings that I only discovered for the first time through books. It was my escape. I remember a school project that was given in honor of Remembrance Day. There were guidelines to be followed, specific words to use or avoid. I wrote a poem. When it started, it was just a homework assignment. But by the end it became something I was tremendously proud of. It even made my mother cry. 3 pages long, front and back. The words I had left on the page, the way they flowed and told a heart-breaking but honest story, it made me feel more accomplished than I ever had so far, at 10 years old. I had far passed the requirements of the homework assignment, and far passed the writing level of a 10 year old. I had written poems and short stories before of course, but nothing of depth or real meaning. Nothing that meant more to me than this. I dreaded having to hand it in to my teacher the next day.

It was the story of a soldier, and the love he left behind to go to war. His fight, the horrors he experienced, the dedication to his country and his determination to get back to the woman he loved. Her fear, her longing and eventually her devastation when she was informed of his fate.

Obviously, I, as a 10 year old little girl. Had never experienced either of these points of view personally. But it still resonated deep within me. I could never explain why I still felt like I could relate to some of what I wrote. I believe it may be that, that's what happens to writers when they've written something real. Something they're proud of. Whether its fact or fiction, based off real events, or imagined. Writers put their hearts and souls into their writing. We feel it deep inside of us. It's a piece of who we are. That work that I created, ingrained in me, the desire to be a writer from the second I wrote it.

Now as a mother, though my desires to write haven't faltered, I still get the same feeling of pride and achievement and whole-hearted happiness through them. My children, much like my writing, are pieces of me.