The Missing Picture

The other day, my mom texted me the picture of me as the Scarecrow from when I was little—the one I’d been searching for for weeks.

She wrote: "I knew I’d seen it somewhere! I went to your dad’s today to do his two-week medication box. He asked me about you (as usual), then went to his bedroom and brought out this framed pic from his dresser. He has another one with you two together from a later time. I was like, ‘There’s the picture!’ I bet you had it in your book and made that 5x7 when you were living at his house. Just my guess. I showed him the video you sent yesterday; he watched it all."

I replied: "No, the 5x7 in the gold frame with a white border is my picture that I’ve had since I was 20."

No wonder I couldn’t find it.

What makes all of this even crazier is that my mom is now his caretaker—the same woman he refused to even address by name just a few years ago. And now she's the one checking in, doing his meds, and keeping him afloat while he talks about missing me. Life is ironic, if nothing else.

And I can’t lie—it stung to realize that picture, one I’d cherished and kept for years, somehow ended up on his dresser. Just like everything else I left behind when I ran to Arizona after he refused to cosign for an apartment and I finally billed him for the care I gave while watching him fall apart.

That house? I made it a home. I decorated it, filled it with warmth, and tried to build something stable. Then he kept what he wanted—including that photo, all my Kelrik hoodies, and so many other pieces of me—and left the rest behind.

It’s all wrong on so many levels. But somehow, even through all the layers of dysfunction, that little Scarecrow picture still connects us.

#FullCircleInOz #ScarecrowKid #FamilyIsComplicated #MemoirInProgress #CaretakerIrony #TruthAndTriggers #OzEnsemble #KelrikForever #LostAndTaken #EverythingButTheHoodies