Fire
TW: fire My first memory of my father is from the time he almost killed us in a fire. He held a parsonage in Woodstock, Connecticut, for maybe a couple of years - I was really too young to know and I sure can’t ask my mother for clarity anymore - but 1979 is the year in question. I was just over 3 and my sister was an infant. I’ve come to understand “flashbulb memories“ indicated by such an intense impression on our psyche as to sear an image of said experience, and I suppose this is one of those. It wasn’t intentional - my first memory of my father isn’t one of him committing arson as is legally defined - but I don’t know if I was able to parse out intent until my teen years; and I sure haven’t addressed this one in therapy. We were in the kitchen, huddled around the table… I can still see that table and the kitchen counter in the haze of my mind. It seemed a massive kitchen by today‘s standards in an old farmhouse. The oil lantern which was supplying all ...