Saturday, April 25, 2009

They Come in Threes?

My first big crisis came when my thieving and adulterous father fled the country with the Feds on his tail, leaving my mother, brother and me without our home, our bank accounts, or answers, and I never saw him again. I was ten, angst-ridden, angry, depressed. It turned out to be a big improvement over actually having him, a raging alcoholic, raise us, but it didn't seem like much bright side at the time in those years of slow regrouping.

Then, in my twenties, came the second depression, when I married under duress and quickly annulled it. The man I'd trusted for five years confessed his cheating ways two nights before our scheduled wedding, ripping off some serious scabs and making me question my judgment, my past, my future. Thank goodness it didn't work out, because then I met J, and found out what it means to fall in love and build a solid relationship, but first I had to lick some gnarly wounds in those years of slow regrouping. It was then that I wrote a poem that I reread often. It's not a good poem, it's melodramatic and adolescent, but it reminds me now, in this, my third crisis, that as hard as things get, these things I have now comprised my hopes and dreams. I have what I wanted. I have it PLUS autism, but which is bigger, autism or me? I read this poem, and I can pull myself back from the precipice a millimeter or two, and try to accept my third phase of slow regrouping.

Forgive the bad poetry, but here it is, my reminder of the power of words, reflection, hopes, dreams, and self talk, in the journey and quest for more joy:

Journey (circa 1997?)

before I go
there will be more pain
I know there will be more pain before I go

others will go first
taking pieces of me
pieces I need
pieces I cherish
they will leave me aching
they will leave me to pay the steep fare
for their journey away from me

before I go
there will be more pain

pains that sear, burn, sting, throb
pains that shoot
and spread
and torture my fragile flesh
pains that humiliate

before I go
there will be more pain

goings and comings and sunderings
lovers that leave and friendships that fade
and longings unfulfilled

before I go
there will be more pain

I will stand alone
and I will stumble
I will err and I will wrong
and I will change, and not always for the better
before I go
and that is certain

but will there be more joy before I go?

will there be
wedding days
and sacred vows
and unconditional love both given and received?

will there be babies
healthy, strong and mine all mine
to raise and love and teach and tickle?

will there be snapshots taken and scrapbooks filled
and will there be more joy?

before I go

3 comments:

pixiemama said...

You know what I LOVE about this> You acknowledge that to live is to hurt. Now use your power of intention. Tell the universe (or God) what you want, what you need.

love.

Betty and Boo's Mommy said...

Thank you for sharing such a personal story and poem with us. Very well done - you can feel your pain through the words.

Mama Mara said...

There will be joy. There has to be. We deserve it.