At 12 I was less than 50 lbs, I was finishing Gr 6, it was my final year at North School, the two room school house where my primary grades were completed. Thinking back, Gr 6 was a quiet year, my Mom was not well, not well at all. I was hiding in myself, reading book upon book, trying to disappear. Writing that just made me cry, I don't think I ever thought about it that way before. I remember my friend Diane being mad at me because I wouldn't do things with her. When I was 12, my parents sold the Norway House Inn, that spring I turned 13 and we renovated Grandma's log cabin and moved in. My mother decorated my new bedroom with white French provincial furniture, I know she was trying for me to be happy but I was so sad I climbed out my bedroom window that winter and climbed into the dog house for comfort with the dog. My self pity wore out, I was soon cold and out of tears, so I came back in through the back door, much to the shock of Mom and Dad who had no idea I was outside. Later that year things got worse with Mom, she ended up in the Selkirk mental hospital for almost 3 months and came home medicated. After a little while she threw out all the medication, back then it took away you soul, and she couldn't stand it. Now that I am 52, I don't blame her for that anymore, now that I know how it feels to be 50. More than 20 years later, a doctor found the right medication at long last and she had a year of peace and sobriety. That was a gift I wasn't expecting and am now so grateful, not for me, but for her. Now I understand how much she suffered and I always knew she tried.