Then one day I was shown we must stop this battle we owned – she took me aside and said she was sorry we must become one – she and I she said the split had caused too much pain – she had gone into hiding – she thought she could live without me – and yet I could not live without her the anger we felt caused our division we were scared – we were ashamed – we thought each other was to blame!
We held each other with open arms – we sobbed – we wept we had been torn in two – it hurts to be born again we leave each other a legacy of love – now that we are one!
“It was as if her shadow was always there, two of us, yet we were one!”
There had seemed it was too much to bear, all of these things had caused a split until I had to quit and turn away!
The trauma in my young life created two separate beings! We were not sure who each of us were, then one day I tried to talk to [ her], I told her my name, [she] said that was her name too! I was confused, how could there be two of us? I tried to ignore her, but she was always there, we could not be broken apart we tried again and again, as if she doesn’t really want to leave it would break her heart! We eat together, we sleep together, she whispers sad things in my ears at night We wear the same clothes, when I want to wear something different, she says no I try to learn to play, to be happy, but she is always sad and hides
I am so angry, I start to cry, tears flow, trying to catch them before they fall, I must be the strong one after all It goes on and on, the conflict increasing, this internal struggle with each other, that one of us needs to leave we agree we want to break away, but we can’t – we are attached I really don’t think I can take much more!
But isn’t the promise that has been given to all ? “No [trouble] has overtaken you, but such as is common to man, but God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted above what you are able. . . . but will. . . also make a way of escape that you may be able to bear it” 1 Corinthians 10:13
After saying goodbye to my earthly father Isought One to replace him. Due to the traumatic experiencesof childhood, a part of me. . . . [my inner child]. . . and I became confused, as if there was not just one but two of us in conflict, seeking comfort and peace. The turmoil kept me in a state of emotional distress, ready to succumb to the fiery flames ready to consume me!
The foundation is weak, seeking its own level, rusty pipes leak, joints creak. Red climbing roses speckled with paint from decades of neglect has had its effects. The attic bares the burden of this house of ruptures, storing baggage in rafters.
It is full and ready to blow, it has capacity to hold no more. I am hesitant to go in, but that’s not strange, I left long ago! It was too much for me, I split in two, leaving my child, a part of me behind. But she followed me in my thoughts. In my dreams I could hear her cry, in my nightmares she would scream. I can bear it no longer, I have to return to claim what is rightfully mine.
Reaching in, pulling her out, now with me she shall remain. With such weight, beams crumble, into the house falling. A soft glow of orange erupts into red tongues of fire, consuming the rooms. A gust of wind fans the blaze, until little remains but ashes and dust.
A few childhood remembrances that survived. The sole of a shoe that once held my foot, now covered in soot. My pink dress smoldering in cinders, a doll looking injured, with charred eyes and lips, her hair on edge with scars on her head.
A book with singed ruffled edges opened to a nursery rhyme – “And all fell down.” I am astounded! Walking through the rubble, I see what trouble the neglect of this house has caused. Sitting amidst ashes, tears begin to fall, this house had been my body, the attic my thoughts. I really didn’t want to leave, I did not know what else to do. If I had stayed,
I would have lost my mind. This house had been deserted, intertwined with ropes and beyond repair. The pain it bore, tore a hole in my soul. It must be restored, hinges and doors must be replaced, as well as windows and doors. Who will do this, I must have Help? Thus the search begins!
This poem is from my book ‘Weeping Child To Forgiving Child’
A sequel to ‘Love Letters To Daddy’ After saying my final goodbye. . . .
. . . . He then faded from my memory, as I began to draw a picture of how I remembered him, until my inkwell had become almost dry with the trace of his image. My brush became heavy, the colors became dark, until I was exhausted and I finally gave up. He became nothing, as if he had never existed, leaving an incomplete picture of a new Father that must be created in my mind!
“It was You who took the churning waters billowing on the face of the deep. In the darkness of swelling waves, crying aloud with groaning pains waiting to give birth and be delivered. Before You spoke your Word
“Let there be light and life”* my existence was in Your thoughts. You patterned my form when there was none. A seed plunged into an empty womb, two beings creating a separate being as they embraced in a moment of bliss. In an instant You wrote my life in indelible ink. The beginning of a tiny infant is immersed in the embryonic fluid, my heart begins pulsating life. Your plan for me is skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth! But who am I to question why I was cast into circumstances beyond my control?
The chosen vessel carrying me is frightened, as her only awareness of life is of abuse and neglect. Her thoughts permeated into my small mind, knitted together, as sinews and flesh are fashioned about my tiny body. Engulfed with her memories of long ago. While the blood racing through her body feeds the embryo with a frightening adrenalin rush. I have to wait in that darkness just as the seed must wait for the nurturing acts of God to bring forth life. I am called and reluctantly enter this world. My first glimpse of life is not pleasant to my childish nature. I question as Job –
“Why did I not perish before I was born?”* A wall of separation comes crashing down planting its steel bars into the chasm of the earth, culminating in an abrupt interruption of time. You have said I must become as a little child, must I go back to the very beginning of conception? Must I have the mind of a babe unmindful of its surroundings, content to exist in each stage of formation?
If I could only shut my eyes and reflect on the innocent mind of a child bathed in quintessential peace and tranquility. To be freed of these scattered thoughts. Ones that take me captive to another world of doubt and uncertainty, quenching the Spirit and nullifying the goodness of God. I am helpless to know the answer to these questionings, it is as if I were being drawn into a darkness of which I am powerless.
But perhaps this dark night of the soul has a purpose and a reason. That I need to embrace this darkness, as the nocturnal labor pains of life experiences bring awareness of a Father that has recreated the image of the one left behind!” *Book of Genesis Chapter 1 *Book of Job Chapter 3:11
The summersolstice that marks the onset of summer!
Dear little heart – did I forget you? – Sad little heart – did I leave you? – Brave little heart – did I forsake you?
Happy little heart – I receive you!
Come close child, today will be our summer day to laugh and play! We will spend it together – visiting the sea– jumping the waves – until the day has passed into the realm of dreams – and deep – deep sleep rests – upon thee!
Well Daddy, here I am one more time, but I’m getting closer to the end of writing these letters to you! I mentioned before, I had had a difficult time, when I looked to God I saw a picture of you, and couldn’t get it out of my mind.
You know we had no values, nor religious ties, where it came from I didn’t know at the time. I was confused and didn’t know what to do. It struck me out of the blue with petrifying force, undermining the very foundation of my being, already in a fragile state of grief and fear. Tormenting thoughts brought me to my knees, one thought was connected to another, forming a great circle. Then I began to buckle with dismay as words came up from the rear, forming a loop with a whole new group of words and numbers pressing on my brain, with chains that squeeze and defy. That’s what OCD and Scrupulosity* do!
As a rule the tools of psychology should work and maybe for a moment they do, but like butterflies in my head, their wings never fly as high again. I know this is difficult for you to hear, but after much help and many years Daddy, it got better. Well I have more one more letter to write!
*The definition of “Scrupulosity’ Obsession with moral or religious issues, a form of obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD with a religious component)
Good morning Daddy,its your little girl! It has been many years, do you remember me? I have come to visit. I’ll just sit here by your side, it has been such a long time since you died!
It is so quiet and peaceful. I see an image of an angel guarding your grave, it is quite strange, I don’t know why this would be since you really didn’t have any angelic virtues that I could see. But I like reading your name upon your stone, it helps me know you really did exist. Well Daddy, the ball always seemed to be in your court, you called the shots, you always seemed to be the la-la man, having fun. Tipping the bottle on the poker table with your friends. I wonder why I have given you free rent in my head? Going through life believing what you said? I thought you held the keys, and if I could please you enough, I would be alright. I know I have written several letters and just when I think I have written enough, other things come to my mind! So I will write a few more letters, since these things are cathartic and lessen the pain. And perhaps this child’s dark night of her soul will have a purpose and a reason to help others who question like I… Then that makes it alright!
June brings remembrances of fathers. I find myself having memories of a father of long ago. At least once or twice I remember sending a letter over the years to the resting place where he was buried. Come to find out, I’m not the only one who has done this. It is quite common for others to do it as well. I’m not sure what the caretakers do with the letters. They may open and read them, then dispose of them, or maybe they don’t bother at all. Much later in life I have written letters calling them, ‘Love Letters To Daddy”, working through emotional issues of an absent father. I had to put them together slowly, there was no way of hurrying the process.
Daddy, you were bombed last night! Walking into the kitchen the morning after, light reflects you in the breakfast nook, as I quietly enter to see if you are alright.
You are hiding behind the newspaper and unable to notice your daughter. Alcohol vapors sting my nose, you don’t see me, as if I don’t exist.
Oh Daddy, you were the one with the clickity-click-click of the tongue and the crazy songs you sung. Where did Mama go? I think she got tired and left. I remember her pouring water from bottles down the drain, but it had a funny smell, I couldn’t really tell.
Who is this strange lady in our house, the one wearing a blue negligee, you both swing and sway from room to room, then pass out on the bed.
Sounds of heavy breathing are alarming, I am confused and don’t know what to do. Viciousness in the kitchen the day you staggered across the kitchen floor.
A pressure pot of beans exploding on the ceiling sending you to the hospital reeling. I begged you not to drink, but you once again began to sink, I’m sorry Daddy I made you drink.
Well, my visit with you is almost done and my time is spent, I will soon be sent away. Really Daddy, will you send me back to those abusers and their evil ways? Aww, please, why do you let them do this to me? I really don’t think I can take much more.
Oh, don’t make me leave, don’t make me go back to that smelly shack. Your pungent smell of vinegar, cukes and alcohol are better than that.
But my pleas were ignored, you were just too sick to have me around. That fifth of whiskey made you awful thirsty hiding the bottles in cabinets and drawers.
Remember how you swerved on those LA freeways, taking me to the bus, without a sound between us? The roar of the engines and exhaust fumes making me sick, carry me to a place I would rather not go.
Finally climbing the steps, crying, unaware of the effects on an innocent child from no where.
Well Daddy, I remember these things whether you do or not, so I am writing these letters in hope to be freed of the pain that was caused!
“Love is like wild flowers, it’s often found in the most unlikely places!”
Yesterday, walking along side a road in the high desert, I came upon a sight that was a surprising and refreshing act of kindness. I hope whoever did this knows what a blessing they have shared!
“Bring my dry bones together, cover them with skin and I shall live again!” In our desert experiences in the land of seemingly death, as trees devoid of life, our dry bones are without skin and breath!
“The hand of the Lord came upon me in His Spirit, and set me down in the midst of the valley, and it was full of bones… and behold there were very many in the open valley and indeed they were very dry. And He said to me . . . can these bones live? So I answered, “Oh Lord God you know… prophecy unto these bones and say to them “Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord” Thus says the Lord God to these bones ” Surely I will cause breath to enter into you and you shall live!”
* * * * * Lord, only you and I know what it took to get to this place on earth, earnestly seeking the right way to go. With tightness of stomach and tension of muscles, every fiber of my being disrupted, constant motion creating commotion.
Oh Lord, put me back together again. Knit me together with the same needles used in my mother’s womb. Bring my dry bones together as you promised long ago . And as you fashion me, help me to know the pricks and punctures from your needles are only for my growth. When it begins to hurt I promise I’ll try not to cry, but if I do my tears you will dry. And please remember to use your thimble, for I know
it hurts you more than I. When your children are hurt your precious Son feels
also the pain. And when the needles are placed in your pin cushion to rest , cushioning the blows for your children below. A stitch is not taken unless it is needed. This is enough for now and all you will allow. When you see I am becoming unraveled and its time to pick up your needles once more, pour your oil on my wounds with the Salve from heaven!
Donna's Poetry Blog 