Mother and Child –
Today, I grew up. My rose-colored glasses fogged. Even though I knew they deceived me, the benefit of the doubt drew me closer to the fire. I got burned. My heart tarnished by the acts of others, I’m humbled to the core. The grace of God shines the song of forgiveness for transgressions felt. Not all mine, not all theirs. But sins non-the-less.
Life is a strange educator. With no statesmanship and limitless strength it rolls over our faces, our spiritual eyes and mortal ears rarely pausing to truly hear the small voices falling from above…
The little whispers and quiet screams that bridge the life earned holes inside. Tiny reminders testifying, you are loved; they are lovable; and in her lips, they tremble.
Then there’s the bitter silence of anger and confusion. Quarrels that disconnect what is right! amidst witnessing the slowing of aged movement and bitten nails. Pride bears it’s ugly music. The notes puff up. Sadly. Others follow.
She lays asleep in the corner of my house– years of decay bleeding her body and soul. The mirror before her is a reflection of her legacy, and I wish to understand. To forgive, to be forgiven: The truth warms me as I feel of tender mercies and a rebirth that is blossoming within my very soul.
I’ll never know the hurt and laughter she’s lived– or to be heard for her failings and blessings upon me. Yes me, the imperfect one. Her walls are far too thick, and her mind far too lost.
But what of the scared and lonely little girl inside that she so desperately protects under the memories of pictures faded. Ripped paper cuts outs of peacefully fractured moments. Of her tailored father: Of her mother I never knew: Of life before my very existence. Transparent vignettes of turmoil and joyful journey sit numbly in her eyes. I weep inside, suppressing tears behind my settling rage.
He held her close to him, and even as she morphed into the mind of a child, she did her best to see us. She, a self-absorbed shadow to the person she could be, evolved as the years went on.
She needed him: he needed her. The “Henny Penny” of his heart, they stood together into a dark and light future. A strong survivor; a faulted man; a sinner and a saint; he was a mortal father, a willing provider and servant to her every whim. She, an innocent and unintentional murderess to the worth of the human heart, loved to the best of her ability, knowing not the impact her memory would fulfill.
We cannot comprehend, nor see, her unrevealed memories. Yet she is worthy to be forgiven. No one will really ever know the true intentions of her heart. They will go with her to a brighter place. A glory where she will be with those she loves, they who love her, and a place where we will once again see her at her best. Her lungs will fill and her heart will loosen. There is peace and grace in that knowledge.
Her legs weak, her mind feeble, she tries to filter the shrapnel in her soul. I watch her move, I see her lost. I ache a pain that I never really noticed before I paused to reflect. A tightened chest that constricted from years of similar breath, I now realize her worth.
A sleepless night, I exhale in receiving new air. I am free.