When I Grow Up

 

When I grow up

I want to be able to forgive

I want to be able to move on

Of long buried pain and shame

Of past betrayal

of stolen youth and innocence

Most of all, I want to be able to hear someone yell what sounds like an insult

and not flinch

or cringe

or have to fight the urge to go hide in a corner

I want to be able to enjoy the feel of someone wrapping their arms around me from behind

Or snuggling up to me as the big spoon in bed

Or even just touching me in general

And not feel a moment of revulsion so strong it makes me physically nauseous

I want to be able to smell beer on someone's breath and not subconsciously move my body so that my back is against a wall

I want to tell goofy stories of my childhood antics with my friends and not suddenly go quiet when It occurs to me WHY I was so stupid

What I was running away from

Why I didn't give a fuck if I lived or died

Because I didn't understand

At so young an age

why neither of my parents would stand the sight of me

Why was I so bad, so unlovable?

I'd buried those memories for years

decades even

Until they rose from the grave like a fucking ravenous zombie intent on consuming my life

But I fought them. I reclaimed them, in that moment. I'm PROUD of how I handled that moment.

But I didn't deal with it.

I didn't move past it.

When you were lying in your hospital bed

dessicated, jaundiced, diseased and dying as a disastrous result of your own uncontrolled rage

Raving about insane things, not even knowing who I was or who you were anymore

I knew you only had days, if not hours

I knew you were really already gone

And it was my last chance

I waited until mom left the room, because she never knew

And I forgave you

I said the words out loud

“I love you, and I forgive you. Find peace. You can let go now. Goodbye.”

Yeah, I didn't get that last word out without choking on tears that time, either.

But I wiped them away, and I went on with my life.

I went on, knowing you were no longer looming over me.

Knowing I no longer had to

seek your approval

Iament your lack of empathy or compassion for me

worry about making you proud, because I knew I never could

every choice I made in life was wrong

I needed to move on from that

And I told myself

I'd have a chance to lay it all to rest.

I'd get that closure.

Later. When the ashes were scattered.

No funeral, there wasn't time for that. Mom had to run away.

Run away across the country and get remarried.

Get remarried and get rid of you on her own.

I don't blame her.

I'm proud of her.

She went through her own hell with you, probably a lot more than I am even aware of.

But she isn't aware of mine either.

She didn't know I needed to watch the water drink your ashes in

To watch you float away into nothingness

To watch some force larger than yourself consume you and take you away.

To be free of you.

I went to your resting place, years later.

I visited.

I added my tears to the water that drank you in years before.

I felt the presence of nature there.

I didn't feel you.

I know because I didn't flinch.

I didn't fear.

I didn't cringe.

I just cried.

I cried because I missed my chance to watch you disappear.

You were gone already when I said those words to you.

There was no reaction.

I wanted a reaction.

I wanted to see recognition and sorrow and guilt and shame and self accusatory anger and rage turned inward in your eyes.

But you were gone.

I missed my chance.

When I grow up

I want to move on.

I want to be free of you.