As you may have read a few posts back, I’ve been working on my bucket list lately, and it’s not been totally easy. Out of desperation one night, I started looking on my bookshelf and an old book caught my eye. It was a tiny but chunky little book called The Wish List by Barbara Kipfer. The entire book is just a list of goals – some big, some small. It’s helping me articulate some of my life goals (like “touch a killer whale”).
One goal that was listed was, “Find my childhood blankie.” When I had read the book years ago, I highlighted it and drew a sad face next to it. A flashback of me at age 3 sprung to mind. I don’t have the greatest memory, and this may be my only one, but I can see myself screaming at the top of my lungs in the bathroom of our apartment. I was throwing a fit and inconsolable. I was kicking and pounding at the door, hoarse from screaming and I was choking on the snot running down my face mixed with tears. Some well meaning (evil) great auntie had told my parents that my attachment to my beloved blankie was unhealthy. As we were eating dinner, I think I did something that got me in trouble and so to console myself I reached for my blankie. This horrible person took my blankie and made my parents throw it into the trash.
And when I say, “freaked out,” I still get heart palpitations when my brain tries to conjure up the memory. I never saw that blankie again. Through the years, I’ve lived without the comfort of that blankie, but I’m sure I have some serious mental, emotional, and psychological damage from this moment in my life. In fact, if I had a therapist, I’m certain she would agree with me.