wise words and memories
"If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better"
warmed only by the heat of my gaslight, woman's intuition tucked away neatly in a dusty, cobwebbed corner of my heart, a sweet boy was born and my love for him was hope
and you brought her into our home. while i sat there on the couch, c-section scar throbbing, 30 hours of hard labor burrowing in my bones, holding the most precious, most miraculous, most perfect human. she kissed your cheek, and you panicked, and I watched it with a knot where my baby had been.
and then you said I should let her hold him. and I stuffed that intuition down a little further, and threw a heavy blanket over its screams, and reminded myself it was all in my head. hadn't you told me so? of course she could hold him, as I sat there helpless, dying inside, every cell in my body screaming 'NO', and wondering what was wrong with me and why was i so broken.
and any time I asked, any time I dared to share what I thought might be truth, not just about her, but about the other things, I was always so wrong. and not just wrong, but hurtful or paranoid or spiteful or crazy or cruel. and I didn't think I was those things, but how could I argue with my heart. my home.
and all these years later when I can see it all laid out, between there and now, I know that what Maya says is true. I should believe it. this is just who you are. and I do believe it, and yet I am still surprised sometimes. and saddened. mostly for that sweet boy and his sparkly brother. because I know. how hard it is to see through the veil of the love. how hard it is to see, when you want so badly to believe something else entirely. how hard it is to see how powerful those words can be, so persistent, so persuasive, so pernicious.
and some say that to heal, you must move on, forgive and forget. but I don't think I will ever forget. and so i will light a torch for them instead, and hold it high, and fuel it with the fire of that anger that lives still in my dreams, or nightmares. and I hope that the fire will not consume me, but will instead light the way along their own path, to their own truth. and that their fires will burn brightly enough that they will never be fooled by gas lamps.
"Write hard and clear about what hurts."