Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Cut Glass

My dad always stood between my mom and I. More buffer than bridge, he kept us from colliding and clashing. Himself a small fury if provoked, sobriety transformed him into a peacekeeper. 

Years of bad stuff loaded on top of dysfunctional, unhealed wounds had forged deep pain and created wedges so immense, I convinced myself they would exist into eternity. 

Days before he passed, I held his hand as he stared into my eyes. He was past the point of speaking, but I knew what he was asking. Could feel what he was saying. Time was too precious to waste with words. It didn't matter anyway. The apologies on my tongue felt fake, trite and useless in that moment. 

The truth is, he saw. He knew. He had been the buffer. He could see her part in it, and he could see mine. He never called either one of us out on our stuff. But that day, he held my gaze long past his ability to keep his eyes open, clasping my hand until sleep took him. And, I knew. I knew what he was asking of me. I knew what he needed to go peacefully. 

I didn't know how I would do it. I didn't think I had enough belief in me or her to even try. And lord knows I've been tested, and I've failed miserably! Dad died and my bulwark collapsed. And we didn't know how to live with each other without him in the middle. We'd never had too. 

But his death required a new kind of living for us both or we would die with Dad and cease to be. Now we had to see each other, be with each other - with no one in between. And that's a scary thing when two people are walking shards of broken glass; fragile, cut, jagged... 

Truthfully, the seeing sends us headlong into grief because seeing one another reminds us both of him and the place where he always existed, as the buffer in between us. We haven't fully mended, and I'm not sure that we ever will. But I can tell you, the jagged edges of the glass no longer cut as deep. The once sharp points have dulled and blunted and I'm no longer running into painful places that send me scurrying. 

Five months it's taken me to finally NOT be afraid of "coming home". Five months to get over the fear of what I could possibly be walking into. Would this be a good visit or a bad one? Would I win at loving and eschew harmful, pain filled words? It feels weird to run my hand along the edges of cut glass and not get sliced. 

I miss my dad with every breath, but the flowers that are pushing up from his cold head is a truth I've finally been able to embrace now that he is no longer between us... she is not my enemy. 

Not that I would have ever consciously deemed her as such. But my defensive posture - fists clinched so tightly my nails bit into my palms and lock kneed battle stance - would not have convinced you otherwise. With dad no longer in between us, somewhere inside of grief and a new reality, I discovered a choice. 

I could continue to seize up and resist or I could allow Love to break open my tightly budded heart. As with a rose, there's always the risk of getting pricked. But I'm slowly saying yes to the beauty and the fragrance of the flower petals despite the risk. 

My mom and I are like a beautiful work of stain glass, and I can't help but wonder how many times the glassmaker cut himself before he learned to handle the cut pieces with delicacy. I had not realized how co-dependent we both were on him to exist with each other. Dysfunction seems so normal when it's your reality. 

How about you? Who or what are you avoiding because the fear of being hurt outweighs the risk of being loved? 


4 comments:

  1. Ouch! This really makes ya sit up and take notice! I know that defensive stance well, far too well and tho I don't like when it happens, at times it is hard to not step into it! Too many cutting situations, too much anger, hostility and sewage being spit out, mostly at me but often from me as well. I refuse to beat myself up about it all tho and choose moment by moment to allow Love to dull my edges, to place His heart between me and them and let Love be my guide! It does make a difference in me, in my heart, in my world and at times, in theirs as well!

    Thanks for being so open, transparent, supportive, encouraging and yes, even challenging in that openness! You should add challenger to your list of descriptions below because you often challenge me to look inside myself and be more real than I ever thought possible! thank you Felicia! THANK YOU for sharing you!

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    1. Thank you so much, Jackie. I love what you've added here.

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  2. Thank you for your vulnerability and transparency❤️ Healing, love and connection flow from this๐Ÿ’”๐Ÿ‘‘❤️

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