We flipped through photographs on Easter. My grandfather’s photo albums. He meticulously organized and labeled them with a label maker he got for Christmas one year. He was so proud of that label maker. He used it on everything. It makes me smile just thinking about it. I looked through those albums and I could feel the love for our family he had. Each section had a comment in his hand writing about who’s birthday it was, which Christmas or Easter it was. I know that my childhood was difficult and painful and I endured a lot of abuse but there was also a lot of love. I am fortunate to have known both so I could appreciate how much my brother and I were loved. I have amazing memories too…it isn’t all bad. I looked through those photos and laughed with my aunt, uncle and cousin. We reminisced about our fashion blunders, who had better/bigger birthday parties, who cheated during the three-legged race and Easter egg hunts. We were a family and still are a family that loves each other very much. It made me miss the days of sitting on my grandmother’s couch, eating whatever favorite meal of mine she cooked, trying to watch a movie while she talked over it the entire time. (smile). It made me long for the days when I was sick and I would go to her house, lay on the floor with a blanket and pillow and she would cater to my every whim. She used to make cucumber sandwiches for me, cut them in fours and stand in the kitchen as I ate them, waiting for me to request more. Those times in that house I didn’t feel like an victim of abuse, I felt like a little girl loved.