Sometimes....

Sometimes...

Sometimes I pretend like my childhood didn't hurt  so much. Sometimes I forgive things I don't understand, but I pretend like it is my choice.It is easier if I take responsibility. I can NOW depend on ME. I talk so often of my Grandfather- the single source of light that I claim. I realize the work that was put into his creation, existence, and aftermath. The very pain, negligence, and deprivation that happens of a 9 year old boy, turned adult, when his father dies, and he is left to be the sole provider for 7 sisters, a mother, and a half brother.... AT NINE, during the depression...

 Brings whole new meaning to "uphill both ways"

Then take this man and lose him his daughter by suicide when she is 26, his wife AND life partner 3 days later and bury(cremate)  them both by the same service, and place him with the 8 year old girl, his granddaughter, and here is ME.

Sometimes the hurt he caused, and the aftermath of my transgressions, his upbringing and misunderstandings, and the weight of  what is and what aught not be, weighed down like an iron fist. NOT heavy enough to stop me from risking my kids, lying, breathing in relief from an iron smoke mask of denial. No one could fix me. Not the mom I wished I had. Not the guilty Grandpa that had lost it all. It was all within me all along. Grandpa, I love you. I forgive YOU for what I did not know. I am thankful for all the love I thought was conditional but was experienced and boundaried.

I am here because I value my life. I wish for a lot, but am thankful for more...

hit publish...