Puzzle Pieces: IV: Found

My memory is like a puzzle. a puzzle with a few missing pieces. That 500 piece puzzle, that was nearly finished until you discover that three or four pieces are missing. You can still see the big picture, you know what the puzzle depicts however, your missing some little details or rather some memories.

The big picture is me. Who i am and what my life is. The small details are what make a person who they are. Sometime i wonder why i remember the things i do and why i don't remember what happened before or after. I wonder is my mind protecting itself from worse memories than what i remember? Or was i really just to young to form full memories?

A sudden loss, gone was the woman i had been with for two years. In a new place, it was cold and isolated. The one company i had was my dog. He was tiny, he only reached to the middle of my shin. He had dark eyes, and pitch black fur, except for a little circle of white fur on his stomach.

He would growl and snap at anyone who came into the room we were in. I seemed to be the only person that he liked, he never growled or bite me like he would others. We were each others’ only comfort. Chiko and I weren’t alone for long.

The door open with a loud creak. A woman with a heart shaped face, long brown hair and familiar, kind brown eyes, was looking at me like i had hung the stars. I didn’t know her or why she was there but strangely i felt more safe in the few seconds i had been in her presence than i had for the last two years.

Chiko didn’t share my sentiments: instead of growling, he cowered under the desk that was in the room. I spent a long time trying to get him to come out. The woman tried to get him to come out with me. When it seemed it would be a while until he was ready to come out. She sat back on her legs and smiled at me.

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay now because we found you.” I would find out later that she was my mother. I don’t remember who told me. It's one of those things that i just know, even though i have no memory of being told. No memory of anything i might have said to her in that room - only this small sliver of remembrance.