I HATE that you are not here…that you are gone…that we won’t plan a wedding, a baby shower, a birthday party.
I HATE that your voice is silent…your giggles – oh, how I miss them and your quirky sense of humor, and that you called me weird and crazy, and that you gave me that look; AND that you called me lady, and Mommie.
I HATE that we don’t have “huggie time”, or pedicures, or lunch dates, or pancakes, or cafecito con panecito.
The list is endless…the pain suffocating!
It’s been said that “HATE” is such a strong and harsh word. Well, it’s NOT strong enough!
Don’t tell me you know how I feel when you are holding your little girl by the hand.
Don’t tell me you understand when no one is missing at your table.
In fact, you don’t have to say a word.
That proverbial fishbowl…that pedestal…ugh! I wish I could shatter that unseen glass; to get away from all the hacking eyes…to hide, to breakdown, to simply be! I wish I could take that “pedestal” and throw it against a concrete wall and watch it shatter, break, dissolve into a gazillion tiny pieces.
Maybe this would bring some relief…maybe…such maybe…
Remember the Dad I told you about?
Allow me to tell you another story. A story about a Father.
Once upon a time there was a Father who had two sons. His youngest son started to get an itch for seeing what was out beyond the home front. So he went to his Father and asked for his share of the inheritance. Funny thing to ask, don’t you think? The “normal” course of life is that one gets an inheritance when the person giving it to you has passed. Anyhow, you can see this son was itching to get out from under his Father.
The Father agreed and off the son went.
And, live it up the son did! Partied and squandered all that the Father gave him and then some. He ended up in the poor house, destitute. He “decides” to go home. He had no other choice. I believe if he did he would still be out “living la vida loca”.
He heads home, probably rehearsing what he will say to his Father.
“…while he [the son] was still a long way off, his Father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him…’Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again’…” -Luke 15:20-23
The contrast between Dad and this Father is night and day.
One Rejects! The other Embraces!
For the “girl” in me, this contrast has given me HOPE!
“A father’s love for his daughter is a preservative against a thousand ills seeking to infect the innocence of her life.” – Byron Yawn
Running, running…always running.
Reaching for the goal, the price.
Reaching for tomorrow.
Blinded to the here and now.
Missing out on TODAY.
Deep inner pain flowing through ink!
“…write about the pain from deep down inside…don’t be afraid…” ~Natalie Goldberg
At 14 she already had her share of “life”. Just a little girl…her innocence a distant memory. She “decides” that home was better than the streets or was it?
Feet as heavy as led, step by step she makes her way to the front door of her home. Can she call it “home”? She hopes so…soon she’ll be rudely awakened. She’ll realize that this place will just be a “holding place” until her next escape. Where does she belong? Does she belong anywhere, to any one?
She opens the door…heavy as a bolder, stuck like glue. She manages to take a step inside, then another. “Oh, he’s sitting on his couch…his spot!” He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn her way, doesn’t even acknowledge her. It’s as if she didn’t even exist. Maybe he wishes she didn’t. Maybe that would take away the shame and disgrace she has brought upon the family name.
She manages to make her way to the kitchen. Mom is busy, as always. She’s quite the homemaker. With a side look, she acknowledges her, but the frown confirms that there is no joy in her coming “home”.
Mom barks a command, “Go! Kneel before your father and ask him for forgiveness!” The girl turns and walks back to the living room, her feet even heavier than before. She approaches the strong man, still sitting in his favorite spot. She kneels. Through tears she manages to speak. Her shaky voice comes out in a whisper, “Dad, please forgive me for running away.” Silence! No movement, not even a flinch. Her mind raising with thoughts, “What will he say? Will he forgive me? Will he slap me? Well, if he did, I deserve it!” Finally, a slight movement of his head…only to dismiss her to her mother. Not a word…not a look…just a small gesture.
The heaviness! The hurt! The disgust!
She stands…walks away…her mind assaulting her with more thoughts. “Did he forgive me? Can I stay? What happens next?”
The news came,
I held my breath.
The journey ended,
My lungs collapsed.
I believe you are safe and at peace,
Yet I remain.
Breathing is difficult…different.
Living is a choice I make every day.
Because life is real and things happen…today I will deviate from my six word story post.
Also, you know those boxes one is asked to fill out to prove that you are “not a robot”? Well, this is my take on “showing” you that I am not a robot 😉
Part of my self-care includes going to the gym (I think you’ve gathered that by now). Depending on how my body is behaving, I will do what I can, always changing and modifying routines. Now with the added emotional turmoil, I go as early as I can to “avoid” a crowd and all the issues that come with it. HOWEVER, I’m finding that doesn’t always do the trick. Let me take you on a tour of some of the things that, well, just get me…grrrrrrr!
- An empty locker room. I pick my locker in a corner. Someone, invariably, will come and take the locker RIGHT NEXT to mine! Did I say it’s an empty locker room?! The choices are endless. Oh, and she gets upset because I am in “her space” (where’s the angry emoji?).
- An empty bathroom with two aisles of empty stalls. I go in AND you guessed it, someone just came in to the stall RIGHT NEXT to mine! Why?! Why?!
- The yoga room. It’s empty because the classes are held during the day. I place my mat, take off my shoes, sit…yes! Breath…slow down…breath…NO!!!!!! Someone comes in and decides they will do kung-fu-fighting (just kidding, not sure what he is doing). His jumping, kicking, grunting, throwing a ball at the wall, more grunting. “Ummmm, did he not read the sign on the door?” Goodness!
- The pool. I’m alone. I’m floating. Relaxing. Stretching. “Yes, this is good!” SPLASH!!! “What was that?” Oh, it’s a swimmer on “speed”. He stops and proceeds to do a “Tarzan scream” (don’t know how else to describe it). “What in the world is he doing?”
Just to clarify, this was not all in one day, and I have more, but I’ll stop for now cause I’m getting anxious just typing this 😀
3am workouts don’t seem to be avoiding the “people issues”…maybe a midnight workout, hummm…maybe? or maybe if I was a real “robot”?
Am I alone in this? Do you have “people issues”?