Posts Tagged childhood

She’s dying and she knows this – as do I.

Little by little, throughout the past years, her mind has been subtly slipping; reaching the point that she now grasps for shreds of memory, to remind herself of the life she has lived, in desperation to stay alive. But as she sits in dark silence, traveling back through the halls of her mind, the doors she once barricaded, suddenly flung open wide; revealing visions she hasn’t the strength to fight against. Her truth revealed, no longer disguised.

And while she struggles to forget, the connection the universe has made between us, is allowing me to remember.

There was always something about her that I didn’t trust; from as far back as I could remember. An underlying feeling of unease and uncertainty, mingled with fear that always lingered whenever I was in her presence, but only when we were alone. For whenever another was near, the feeling of empowerment overwhelmed me; as if at last I had the upper-hand, in the unknown, unnamed battle that raged between us. A protective barrier that allowed me to breathe easy, knowing she couldn’t hurt me, wouldn’t dare make a move, until we were alone again.

At some point I learned to control my mind, filter the wickedness and divert my attention; for I recall entering her home in what can only be described as a trance-like state; focusing my attention on one or two particular things; visually pleasing happy places, where I remained throughout the duration of my stay, offering no reaction; as everything else outside my focus, appearing as a grey misty haze.

That’s when she knew she had lost control. Forced to shift her position, she showered me with gifts, bribed me with money; in an attempt to buy my love – or perhaps for reasons much deeper, more cynical. Gifts given as sentimental gestures that never meant a thing to me; and me believing there was something wrong with me; because I felt nothing, when I thought I should have been grateful.

I never wanted to believe the stories of her cruelty that I was told; rising up and lashing against them; giving the perception that I was somehow protecting her. I now know that it wasn’t that I didn’t want to believe them – I simply didn’t want to hear them, for fear they would dredge up the stories all my own. I wasn’t protecting her – I was unknowingly protecting myself.

She is dying and she knows this – as do I.

I will not shed one single tear, when her final breath is drawn – but simply take a deep, cleansing breath of my own and close that chapter of my life forever.

I was that girl of the water, of which you spoke; though it wasn’t until later in life that I learned how to actually flow. Much of my youth was spent swimming and fighting against the raging tide. I still bear scars from being thrashed to the bottom by the undercurrent; battle scars of lessons learned, life lived, discoveries made and mistakes overcome.

I never wanted to have children, for the simple fact that I believed the world to be too cruel a place. God had other plans; casting upon and within me, a new life that most certainly saved my own. From that moment, life as I knew it was forever changed; and I realized what a beautiful and glorious place the world truly is; that it’s the people within that are ugly and cruel; those who refuse, or are simply blinded by the illusion of this corporeal world, to see the true magic that surrounds them.

And so for the past eleven years, I have nurtured, cherished and shared my self and my world with my child, and while I will protect him till the end, I will never stifle or try to control the person he is; the little man he has been since day one. For he came to me an old soul, quite set in his ways already; no doubt ready to elevate to the highest plane of existence once his time here is done; teaching me as much about life, love, living, the human condition and compassion than I ever learned on my own.

While he most certainly was a gift given by God, I know that he is not mine to keep, and so inasmuch as it is my responsibility to prepare him for the trials and tribulations of life, provide him with all the necessary tools to grow and flourish into the man I know he will one day become; I have only asked, and will ever ask, but one thing of him; that is to be true to himself.

Thank you for your words that brought me to this place. I needed to be here more than you can possibly know.

Peace,
Jill

There was a large church that sat on the corner across the street from her house. She used to go there when things got too spooky at home; seeing them watching from the second-story window, trying not to look, but feeling their eyes on her all the same; knowing she was safe and they couldn’t touch her, so long as she was across the street at God’s house. For hours she’d play on those front steps; up one side, across the landing and down the other.

Then one day she heard a strange noise coming from inside; frozen in fear as the large double doors slowly opened; and there the old lady stood; white hair pulled back in a bun, a kind smile and green eyes that were the color of her own. That was the day she first met Bessie and Jake; their job it was to clean the church. From that day on she had free reign on cleaning days; looking over her shoulder as she made her way inside; wondering what they thought – the dark ones, always watching from the upstairs window.

They were a quiet couple that lived in a little blue house two blocks from her own. She liked being able to be with them in silence; no pressure to perform, speak, or even think for that matter. Usually in the kitchen is where she’d find them; after having slipped through the garden gate; the door hidden among the overgrown honeysuckle that had taken over the fence that surrounded their entire yard. A secret garden in which she could explore and play; without hindrance, without interruption; all alone with her girlish dreams and fantasies.

Through the kitchen door she’d slip; Bessie at the sink in her pretty flowered apron that tied behind her neck and covered her whole dress; washing vegetables or cutting fruit that she’d gathered from the garden; allowing her to eat them straight from the bowl. Jake at the table with his little leather pouch and funny looking machine; she always enjoyed watching him measure out the precise amount and then roll the perfect cigarette; the sweet smelling tobacco filling the room.

Content she was, just to be in their presence; Bessie and Jake, her great-grandparents, who she discovered quite by mistake. Hers was a strange upbringing to say the least; for even though the little blue house had sat empty and abandoned, several years even before she was born; the dead had a way of showing themselves, never remaining so; not in her world, where the veil blew freely between worlds, as if controlled by the breeze…