Childhood Lost: Tragedy or Triumph?

As she walks into her grandparents' family room, she is not surprised to see him sitting on the couch. Today, this scenario is a painfully familiar memory that emerges from her mind.  Unfortunately, as she enters into anyone’s family room and there is a grandfatherly-type sitting on the couch, she relives one Sunday afternoon.
One Sunday afternoon, a three year old is excited to get home from church. This is the Sunday grandpa is home from his railroad run. This is the Sunday she gets to read the best part of the newspaper to him, the cartoon pages. This is the Sunday she gets to show off her brand new white dress with red polka dots. This is the Sunday. . .ah yes. . .this IS the Sunday.
This IS the Sunday no one wants to speak of as if nothing ever happened. This is the Sunday she is no longer an innocent, pure three year old little girl. This is the Sunday her mother becomes v-e-r-y upset. This is the Sunday her mother discovers she is sitting on his lap with a dress on. This is the Sunday her mother grabs her by the arm and throws her on the floor. This is the Sunday she is accused of being a. . . this is the Sunday. . .ah yes. . .this is THE Sunday.
This is THE Sunday, at three years of age; she becomes the object of disappointment, disgust, and rejection from her mother and a beating from the one man she idolizes as a god, her father.
The scenario fades into swirling clouds of confusion, until there are sounds of two distinct voices speaking from far away. Even though they are loud enough to hear, she is unable to understand their meaning. As the billowiness subsides, she is sitting on her bed, wondering and waiting. Waiting for what, she has no idea. She knows only the voices have ended and footsteps are approaching.
As she gazes at the open doorway, her father enters and slowly closes the bedroom door. When he faces her, she studies his distorted face. It reveals an expression she is unfamiliar with. . anger? Not until he takes off his belt does she realize she is going to experience something unpleasant. . .a spanking. . .no. . .a beating.
Her father says only one sentence: lie on the bed, face in the pillow. She is obedient and waits for the first lash hit her bare legs and thinly-covered backside. She hears the whoosh, then pain. Again, she hears the whoosh, then worse pain. She stops counting at five as she slips into a state of nothingness. She awakens to a sickening smell as if she is in a hospital; however, it is not. It is the smell of the red fluid swabbed upon cuts to kill germs and it stings.

According to the doctor, it is called PTSD.

PTSD means post-traumatic stress disorder, which might as well mean past times sadly downplayed. She is asked to remember as far back as possible. This is easy. . .well. . .sort of. She has this reoccurring snippet: she is underwater looking up at the bottom of a white wooden boat. She is not afraid, even though she knows she is not breathing. She watches a man’s left hand reach into the murky water, as if searching for something. She knows it is her father’s; she recognizes the gold band on his finger. She is two years old.
She is asked to contact her mother, in order to find out whether or not this is an actual event. She refuses the doctor’s request. She has not interacted with her for years and does not wish to start. . .ever. As the doctor explains the importance of healing the inner child, her heart races with the intensity of a thoroughbred as he is close to the finish line. A plethora of emotions flood her, threatening to drown her in a pool of stagnant memories and she feels as if she is suffocating.
The doctor stops in mid-sentence as he realizes she is having a panic attack. He talks with her in quiet, soothing tones. Finally, after inhaling several times deeply the refreshing air, she is calm. She is emphatic about not wishing to speak with her mother and he agrees. After a few thoughtful moments, he suggests a conference call. It will be on speaker; he will do all the talking. She agrees, as long as her mother does not know she is in the room. He explains it is not necessary for her mother to be aware of anything here. She is in a safe environment.
The doctor is amazed she capable of remembering her mother’s telephone number, since the alienation is twenty years, but then she is a very intelligent woman. In earlier sessions, she is able to give any account with such graphic detail; he has very few questions to ask.
For example, with the Sunday afternoon scenario, he had only one question: did she read the cartoon pages or did she use her imagination and explain each one. When she looks at him with confusion, he explains it is highly unusual for a three year old with the ability to read. She displays a look of surprise as if she is not aware of this statement. She states simply her grandmother taught her to read from two books: the dictionary; the Holy Bible and to ask questions. Yes, she can read and has been reading since she was three years of age. Imagination? She learns that from her grandfather, she relays with venom and bitterness.