Setting: After Dark Page
Rating: PG
Codes: T

Memories

I grew up an only child; smothered by my mother, adored by my father and although I had many friends I was always considered deficient, an outcast; due to my half-Human heritage.
The first vivid memory I have is of my mother and grandmother arguing after a bi-monthly meeting of the Thirteen Houses.
I was weak, polluted, unworthy.
I realized at a later age that that didn't mean my grandmother didn't love me, for she did, but it was the belief of the Houses that they were to keep the bloodline pure.
But at five years of age and with little comprehension of the emotions I sensed around me I ran to my hiding place in the Garden of the Roses, determined never to move again until my father found me and lured me out of hiding with the promise of hot-chocolate.
Of course.
My grandmother apologized and wrapped me in a mental blanket of love to assure me. I forgave her then, but as it is with all painful memories, I never forgot. Unfortunately she passed away before I had a chance to understand the explanation she gave me.
It wasn't long thereafter perhaps a year and a half, which is a short time, looking backthat I was sitting at school when suddenly I felt as if my heart was being torn in two. Ignoring the teacher's order to stay inside I dashed out the classroom and ran home.
I found my mother in the garden, her expression blank and her mind shielded to keep me, and everyone else, from sensing anything.
Without explaining the pain I felt she sent me back to school. It wasn't until a few days later, when I found her packing my father's belongings, that I began to understand what had caused the emptiness I felt. Being as young as I was I asked my mother why she was packing Daddy's things, thinking how upset he would be when he found out all his possessions were gone.
It was the first time I ever saw my mother cry. Sensitive to emotions as I was I climbed into her lap and cried along with her, not knowing why, but feeling her pain and sadness as if it were my own.
"Something very bad has happened Little One" she said finally murmured between sobs "Daddy won't be coming home again." I yelled at her, accusing her of lying and ran to my hiding place, waiting for my father to come and promise me hot-chocolate.
Only he never would.
My mother changed then; she became even more protective of me and threw all her energy into raising me as a perfect Daughter of Betazed and I did everything in my power to please her, hoping it would make her happy again.
Life settled down again and remained quiet for a while and although my mother wasn't as much fun as she used to be, she seemed happy for the better part of each day.
Then I reached the age at which Betazoid children become telepathic. I knew that, despite having been empathic since birth, my mother still harbored hope I would become telepathic. When it became clear I wouldn't she loved me no less.
The other children, and the other House members, found my lack of telepathy a reason to bully and disdain me. I spent most of my time in the garden, wishing I had someone to talk to, someone who could understand how I felt: someone of mixed heritage as well.
I often asked my mother why her and Daddy hadn't made another baby, but she never answered, always turning away in grief over my father's death and so I stopped asking.

Now I know that my father's death was only part of the reason for her pain. Now I know that my wish had been granted long before I ever made it.
And now I feel the same anger I felt when learning of my father's passing. The same hollowness in my chest, even though I never realized it existed until I found the answer to my childhood wish deep in my mother's mind.

My wish, my equal, my sister.

Just as I imagined how my life would be, had my father lived, I now find myself wondering how my life would've been, had I known Kestra.
All the lonely days in my youth, wishing for someone to understand me wouldn't have happened. I would've had an older sister, someone to look up to for guidance.
I wouldn't have been my mother's only heir and I doubt she would've been as difficult about the choices I made had Kestra been there to make them first.
I'm aware of how selfish I'm being, but I've wished for a brother or sister so often that it is hard to grasp the fact that I had a sister, even if only for a short while. And it hurts that I have no memories of her of my own. It hurts to never have known her; just as it hurt me when I had to coax my mother into telling me about her.
It hurt her more, I know, to be forced to remember, to relive the pain.
Had it not been deadly for her to suppress the memories she had I don't think I could've brought myself to force her to remember, to hurt all over again.
But I came so close to losing her and if that had happened I would've truly been alone and that frightens me more than anything else. Losing my mother. Of course I'll lose her one day and unless she has another child I will be the last Troi, but she has many days ahead of her.
Many days to smother me, many days to embarrass me, many days to patronize me, many days to embarrass the Captain, many days to fascinate Data, many days to amuse Beverly.
Many days to be impossible, and thank the Heavens; many days to remember her lost husband and daughter and to tell me about them.

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