Lost Ones

I was quite young when it happened, my hazy memory a fog of snippets that I have not thought about or cared to recall.

I would have been 8 or 9 I think, for some reason the memory time-frame overlaps with my vivid recollection of Erin Burkholder, a childhood friend of mine that was murdered. 

In a musty smelling laundromat. My mother folding laundry on the end of a puke-orange yellowing table. The hum of dryers and ka-chunk, ka-chunk of washing machines. A tinkle as the back door swings open, the form of a man pushing through with a child in his arms. "If a woman comes in I'm not here." He says as he sets a little boy on the edge of the table.

I remember the smell of dryer sheets, the look of lazy confusion in the little boys' big eyes. The way his little hand wrapped around the mans jacket. The goose bumps on my neck and the icy shock of adrenaline.

He spoke with my mother, words I can't recall in the crumpled, faded memory. But the feeling I conjured back was one of a lesson...he was teaching someone a lesson by taking that little boy...someone had left him in a car and the man wanted them to be scared.

Many years after that, my two boys were abducted by their estranged father. Fresh from jail and angry that the courts had placed a restraining order on him, their father went to the person who was taking care of them and disappeared. I was at work when I got the call, and by the time I knew what was happening, he had caught a ferry to the mainland and my boys were gone.

Six weeks later, my boys came home to me.

Six weeks of panic, police, RCMP and cross provincial battles.

Six weeks of sleepless nights, innumerable tears, guilt, anger, anxiety attacks, frustration and fear.

This was a story I lived through, yet try to not think of. That time was one of the most defining and guilt-heavy periods of my life...

Because why did I let it happen?

What could I have done differently?

What happened to my babies when they were gone?

What did it say about my ability to parent and protect?

The things that were said about me, my mothering capabilities and my character were harsh, crippling, horrific. Things you wouldn't even think to say about someone you abhor. Yet I took it all, quietly, internally, and once my babies came home, I made my earliest escape possible, with the help of family from 3 provinces away.

Did my boy's father teach me a lesson...?

Yes, I suppose he really did.

Now and then something happens in the current time to peel open wounds such as these. Memories almost forgotten, or buried, get pulled to the surface so I can examine my perceptions, my fears. I get lost in how to deal with it, and think myself irrational for having an overwhelming reaction. I think I am not alone in this. However, due to the way I function, I don't want my personal crap overflowing on a situation that has nothing to do with me.

So this is me sharing a piece of my story. This is me dealing without oozing emotion and allowing myself to wallow in history. 

Not all stories end with "and then they came home." So I'm thankful for those that do. 

Perhaps the moral of all this is lost ones create ripples in our lives. Whether it is a momentary panic that ends well, a prolonged story or a permanent loss...

Whether it is our own, or our loved ones', or even just a knowing of someone else's' loss...

Lost Ones bring a lesson to us.

I can't say I'm grateful for this, not yet any way...

But I can say I am aware.

Mostly Just You

We hear all the time how horrible the world is. 

"Going to hell in a hand basket" comes to mind often.

It's so scary, with terrifying terrorists, medicated massichists, petrifying politics, victimizing violence. 

The weather is out of hand, the earth is purging our selfish selves. 

We have no control, so out of control...

So much terror, fear, anxiety, depression, suicide, homocide, distortion and exploitation.

Glued to screens that we hold in our hands we drink it all in and ask...

Am I Ok?

And yet...

I find we are. We don't know that we are, society and media will insist that we aren't.

The web of perception is slowly bending. 

Can you feel it?

Maybe it begins by turning off the media feed. It won't do you any good to know that people are still dying. The information you're getting is filled with buzz words that maybe you should hear a little less often.

Maybe you tell yourself that everything will be okay, and after a little while, you believe it.

Maybe you find your voice, your art, your talent that only you know exists. You take it out, brush it off and begin to allow it to blossom.

Who knows...

But whatever it is that you decide to do to change the crippling fear that is overwhelming your every decision and thought, I promise you, it is the right thing.

Because fear only needs a tiny toe hold in order to consume your every point of view.

Once you do,

The world slowly transforms before your very eyes.

Miracles begin to happen and angels dance on your fingertips.

Laughter comes easier, no force necessary.

You are free to be silly without embarrassment.

Your are free to experience your life in all the glorious ways it was meant to be experienced.

When a midnight text comes in with 3 little words...

Mostly just you.

That is enough to make you smile and know you are safe and cherished.

I know, the world will judge. They will assume and bash and kick to keep you down where they think you belong.

But it's ok my friend, I give you my word,

In a little while, it won't matter.

You are free to be your truest self, because you matter in this world at this time in the place you are, as you are.

The moment you are free to believe that, all the things of the world can't scare you any more.

And who has the power to make that happen?

Mostly just you.

Not Quite Dead

She shook her head, eyes cast down.

"Of course I knew..." She trailed off a moment. Looking back up to meet the accusing eyes. "I always knew it was a game, I just had hope is all. I just hoped that maybe the game would end."

One of the things people forget is that not everyone is playing, or playable. 

She knows the game.

Recognizes the game.

But chooses not to play.

But she loves the game players, and keeps hoping that one day they will realize that not every pawn is unaware. Not every pawn is making the expected moves.

 

"Don't you think if I had something to hide I would have reacted differently?" She asks.

The answer "I guess you're right." Comes slowly.

The dawning of realization that perhaps she knew all along that so many lies had been told, to her, about her, surrounding her...yet she was still here. Waiting to be stabbed, one more time. Why not?

She wasn't quite dead yet. 

And if she was worth using, worth stabbing, worth being lied to and about, then maybe her role in the cosmos wasn't quite played out yet.

It isn't that she can't be controlled...more that she prefers the illusion of being moved across the board.

Because she's still here.

She isn't quite dead enough to accept that someone can't learn, can't grow, can't be seen as they are and loved any way. 

And she does...love any way.

Because the tears she sheds now and then are not because she doesn't KNOW that she's being played, used as a pawn in someone else's game...the tears she lets fall are from the shattered hope that once again someone thought her too stupid to know what's up.

Their choice to lie to and about her stung because there wasn't any need to, and they couldn't see that. Their anger, not from the lesson they chose not to learn, but from being caught once again, was like the breath of life being snuffed out.

"It doesn't matter." She says.

"No?" The question sounds hollow, yet she knows what the intention behind it is, and she sighs.

"No, I don't mind being used for the greater good. I have broad shoulders and a strong back."

She doesn't mean this to sound martyristic, even as she knows it does.

She isn't quite dead yet.

Gut Kick

This morning, I stole out the front door;

Heading somewhere I hadn't quite decided on yet.

My shoes clenched snugly in my right hand, ears perked for any noises.

With a faint 'shhhhk', I closed the inside out and stooped to slide on my runners; back pack lazily sliding down my forearm.

The brightness of the day still hidden behind a sheet of morning haze, but the birds already chatting.

I glanced back at the door, imagining for a moment that it could slide wide open and I would be forced to reconsider my escape.

Yet it lay quiet, not a creak or a thud to suggest any life lay within.

I straightened, returning my burden to its resting place above the small of my back.

I contemplated the places I might go to achieve my task. So many things left unturned in this world.

Decisions make themselves at times, and my feet were already moving.

Why today?

Yesterday;

I received a solid kick to the gut.

An unexpected reminder that no matter how loyal, trustworthy or solid you may be....

Sometimes those you place that with will lie about you. Throw you under the bus. Stomp on your face and bash the holy living hell out of your good intentions.

Reasons unknown.

You might feel it was deserved on some level or another, but you know without a doubt you have never betrayed them. 

The shock of it is mind numbing. 

The pain unbearable.

You might sit there cradling your chest, begging for mercy, begging to breathe.

So...

You fall into a state of uncertainty. Questioning all your interactions and searching for a reason.

Somehow you just know, somewhere along the line you did something to earn that gut kick.

And you're sorry.

But it still hurts.

Today;

I stole out the front door.

My feet drawing me to rest under a weeping willow.

Alone, by my tree.

I sorted through the storm in my mind.

Returning the pain to the soil it was formed from.

I let it go.

I forgive.

Because I don't need to carry that with me, tucked in a back pack far too heavy to bear.

It is outside of me.

If I deserved it, then I thankfully accept that I am still alive to feel, and place it in the roots.

Not by water to cleanse; but by bark and leaf to grow.

I am thankful for betrayal; for I can still love beyond it.

I am thankful for hurt; for I can still live to experience it.

I am thankful for the lessons; for I am still alive to learn.