I was going through some social media posts, cleaning them up when I found a link to a story I wrote quite some time ago. I had completely forgotten I wrote this…would love to remember where my mind was at that day…so check it out. Would love to hear what you think.
Okay – I’ve taken the Indy Ink Challenge for the first time. I was challenged by Melissa R to write something that included the following: 97 degrees, a subway ride, a high school classmate, a woman in a hat with flowers.
They look at peace is how I would describe it. The young woman and the elderly lady. They sit across from me, holding hands, whispering to each other. I hate trying to estimate someone’s age. Never been good at it – usually get it wrong by years, but the young lady looks like she is in her twenties.
She’s wearing jeans. I’d like to take a jagged rusty dagger to the throat of the man who invented jeans. Let ‘im know I’m coming for him, walk slow, real slow and…real slow, grip that knife and drag it across his throat ‘til the blood oozes out and down…
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This was and always will be a favourite TV show. The daughter and I spent blissful hours lost in another world when we watched together.
I am bursting all over at the thought that we get another dose of this beloved town and its inhabitants.
I am behaving a bit like Chev. Shaking all over just thinking about it.
In the blogging world we get to meet all types of people. Some we click with, some we don’t. What a blessing it is when we do form a friendship, even if it is in the waves in the air between us. It does not diminish how much these friendships mean to us.
What a joy it can be when there comes a time we can meet up and actually touch.
I experienced that when I was recently in Switzerland visiting my daughter. Many moons ago a lady, with loads of wit, and I connected here through our blogs.
When she heard I was in Switzerland she drove for four hours to meet me. As I saw her sitting on the steps outside my daughter’s apartment building I knew that this was going to be one of life’s better days.
Her laugh, her joy in life, her stories, they all made me walk around with a feeling of happiness.
I so want to thank her for taking the time to add another memory to my trip to Europe. A memory that always brings a smile to my face.
Of course we had to have a beverage so we could have a toast or two !!!
You could pop over and meet Em yourself on her blog.
I spent some time in September visiting my daughter in Switzerland, and also catching up with my son & his partner. On one of the days I travelled to Colmar in France. The trip in itself was a delight as train travel doesn’t happen here much in NZ.
I know, I know…of late my blogging has been atrocious. This week for my local writer’s group I had the task of writing a letter to a dead relative/friend. Strange subject I know…and guess who set the task ??
Yes…it was me. I am learning there are few coincidences in life. I know from writing the following piece that I had a need to say these things to a father that can no longer hear them.
But the process of taking these thoughts from my brain and placing them on paper was very good for me. I can move on. I can love with open arms and no expectations, and not be afraid.
Earlier this month I took a moment to ponder what it would have been like to still have you here. You would now be 107 years old, and I wondered if time might have made you different. Seemingly out of nowhere came a thought. Common sense tells me that of course nothing comes out of nowhere. That our thoughts are simply pulsating deep feelings that we may try to bury, yet like an earthquake they will eventually erupt and arise to the surface. My thought was this. Love and hate are very closely bonded together. I realised that when I think of you in the quiet moments I waver between the two.
I remember and love the moments we shared. It was only as I became an adult I truly appreciated how you suffered through my learning to cook, never expressing what you must have felt about some of the awful missteps in the kitchen that still made their way on to your plate. You generally ate every mouthful, and for that I loved you. I also remember you teaching me to drive, and wonder just how you made it through that period without suffering a serious heart attack. There are many of these memories that pop up. Often they surface when not expected, but they give me a sense of peace.
I also remember how you broke me in to so many pieces that 20 years later I am still finding cracks. It was not until after you died that I realised how like Pop you were. I should have seen the signs; perhaps I did but chose to ignore them.
Family was in fact a burden to you. When it came down to it, like Pop, you were not above exploiting that family for your own needs. As I reflect, one memory in particular arises again and again. It was painful at the time. It is still painful. Conceivably that is why for many decades I buried it deep inside. I was an eight year old, getting to know her mother for the first time. Using guile and guilt you tried so hard to bring me to heel. When I take that memory apart now I see a selfishness I had refused to acknowledge in you.
Put that aside…and oh how I loved you. I still do. I always will.
You left this world in 1996. You left it leaving behind your signature on some papers that would do exactly what I believe you wished for. Papers and a signature that would tear me in to little pieces. I know that you had no way of knowing what a vulnerable state I was already in, because I kept from you the news that my marriage was falling apart. So for a time…even broken as I was by your action…I did not hold you to account.
When the news came to me days after your death of your decision to cut me so completely, at first I felt nothing. I moved from room to room in my newly rented house, and often wondered how I came to be standing where I was. I dressed and fed my two children, your grandchildren, yet a part of me was disconnected from everything in my world.
One day while I was cleaning out the pantry, my disconnection, the very thing that had held me together for those few weeks, dissolved. As did I. I lay amongst the tins and packets of food on my kitchen floor and piece by tiny piece cracked open so wide that feeling the world around me became a painful thing.
A hug from my children, seeing a butterfly land on a flower, a summer shower…all those little things that had once given me such peaceful joy now caused more pain than you can imagine. It was as if any pleasurable thing that touched me wore a coat of acid.
For years the pain of living with what you did seemed simply too much. The pain of knowing my father was the cause seemed simply too much.
In the following years many things happened, and the adulthood I had so longed to postpone found its way to me. My children were a large part of my learning about the world. I learned that I could love so deeply and so unconditionally that I was in truth…nothing like you. With that revelation came some peace. With that peace came some forgiveness. Not only for you but also for me. I forgave you. I forgave myself for still loving you. You who could consciously cause a child of yours so much pain, so much sorrow. I promised myself to learn to be everything you were not.
I would love my children…with no conditions applied, with no expectations that their lives were mine to control or to exploit. Love is often a surprise to me. Having never really felt secure in love I was a prime candidate to be like you. To seek it, to demand it, to hoard it. I imagine there is more of my mother in me than I will ever know. Because I have learned that love is not to be controlled. It is only when you embrace it with loose arms so it is free to leave when it desires, that you ever truly experience the peace and the joy of it. And I wonder if you saw the part of me like Mum, and that is what drove you to wreak such destruction. In trying to punish me you were also trying to obliterate her in payback.
When it came time to write this letter to you I was surprised to find that feelings I thought of as gone, were actually just in hiding. Love and hate. The two ends of the spectrum of emotions. I hate what you did. Still. But…yes, with me there always seems to be a but, I am also thankful for it, even if I can never grasp what drove you to inflict pain of that magnitude on your own child. No matter what you perceived my guilt to be.
Asking a pregnant woman to choose between the two most important men in her life was unjust. Clutching your perceived sense of being wronged when you were the one who forced the choice in the first place was unjust. Unjust and unkind. And once again I am surprised at myself. When I take my memories out and lay them before me I see that in fact you were not a kind man unless it suited you. A kind man would never have allowed the police to hold his 18 year old daughter responsible for a car crash, when he was the driver, and drunk at that.
Perhaps I am now the one being unkind, for the possibility exists that you did not fully comprehend the fall out from your actions. Yes the possibility is there. The probability and the likelihood of that being the case, sadly is minimum. The child that still lives on me would love to latch on to that possibility and therefore be able to imagine her father as a kind man, a just man. The adult in me knows better. The parent in me is uncompromising in her revulsion of the cruelty of your action.
So there in lies the hate part.
And the love, where does that come in to play? In forgiving you, and forgiving myself for still loving such a father. Through forgiveness I have learned to love and love freely. I have learned that even if love is not returned, as we would wish, the act of loving itself is a blessing. I have learned that a love that has no expectation except to be given is the purest form of love, the one that gives the most reward.
You Dad, with your love that was wrapped in expectations, and punishment should those expectations not be met, yes you, taught me how to love without expectation of any kind.
Your lessons though oft times uncompromising and harsh, were for me, lessons I now believe I needed as I went my way in this world. You taught me how love should be, could be, and luckily for me, is.
How can I do anything else but be grateful to you for teaching me what is the most important lesson I have ever learned, for handing me a way to learn the true value of love ?
Love freely given.
Love without expectation.
Love that compromises.
Love that is unconditional.
Love that seeks no reward other than the pleasure of loving.
So there in lies the love part.
Ever your daughter,
- Colin Arthur Bryant and the third child.
- You’re Never Prepared for Death.
- Saturday’s Child
- I’m a mother – above all other things.
- The Letter.
And if you are new to my blog, or just haven’t read some of these…a few posts that will maybe explain the crazy existence of me..
- Alone is not the same as lonely
- 100 things
- 20 more things
- 20 more things #2
- 20 more thins #3
- Another update about me….
- Bucket list…mine
- Questions, questions, questions…
- Just a few facts…
- Heads up people…it’s my birthday
- My top 10 favourite dance scenes,
- Music to feed my soul.
- Laminated List
- The art of pirate tagging
- Laughter and dancing because I can.
I find myself in awe of all the bloggers out there who continually post. I have been taking another break…not really sure why. Seems like my blogging mojo had gone and done a runner, but I am trying to get it to come back home.
Now I know this is not technically a wordless post but that is actually how it started off…so here is the picture I wanted to post before I got carried away with my thoughts.
Love hearing this in another language. It does not lose its charm one bit. And their voices are like honey.
Just one more…seeing as Christmas is nearly here…this time in Woodland Cree…enjoy.
- Little Drummer Boy #1
- Little Drummer Boy #2
- Little Drummer Boy #3
- Little Drummer Boy #4
- Little Drummer Boy #5
- Little Drummer Boy #6
- Little Drummer Boy #7
- Little Drummer Boy #8
- Little Drummer Boy #9
- Little Drummer Boy #10
- Little Drummer Boy #11 & #12