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February 15, 2018

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February 15, 2019

How can I process hurting someone I never wanted to hurt, but HAD to hurt, in order to save them?


How can I move forward from a decision made not with malice, but that carried malice along with it because I BROUGHT it.  Because I needed to, in order to justify to others what I knew in my heart was right.  In the end it was the right decision. 


I can play positive.  I can pretend happy.  I can move unscathed, unshaken, unquestioning. But I’m not.  Not really.  Pieces of me might be.  The pieces that saw our future in other families had I not made that decision.  The little parts of me that can see the potential future now that the decision has been made.  The good future.  The faraway future at the end of the rainbow, after the rain, the pain, the turmoil. 


I grasped those pieces and held them tight.  And as I held those small parts, I felt them grow bigger and heavier in my hand because I willed them to do so.  Please, get big.  Grow.  Fill us all up until there’s no more room left for the bad.  Then I held my breath and said it out loud finally.  


I did it.  Please don’t hate me.  I said it.  Please don’t look at me that way.  Please ignore me now.  Don’t listen to my ‘whys’.  They’re hurting you.  I need them.  Don’t listen.  It’s done.


Who knew that being brave could also mean being destructive?


Where’s the rainbow?  Can’t you see it?  We can find it.  Let’s dig for those pieces, together, because I know they’re here somewhere.  But you’re not looking.  Can’t look.  You can’t see it for the pain I’ve caused you.  Confusion, grief, mourning.  I know.  I know.


If there was a way back, I’d take it.  But that piece… the one with the knowledge?  It knows, too.  It knows that if I went back, misery would follow.  Maybe not right away.  But it would come.  And it would wreak havoc and burn and tear and destroy.  Yes, more than I have destroyed.  So much more.  


And that little piece?  It told the other little piece, “This way is better.  This way saves.”


So I listened to those pieces and then I said goodbye, I’m done.  And I did not rejoice.  I did not sit in comfort.  I fake a face, fake a face.  Use my last ounce of strength.  Stay the course.  Be still the good teacher.  Be still the guardian care-taker.  Goodnight, child, then I break.  Quietly, then not at all.


And I am okay then.  I am strong.  I am confident.  But it doesn’t last long.  There’s always something that triggers the quaking.  A sharp needle of a deflected embrace that pierces through the thin veil and out it all drains.


And then I don’t know.  Then I am shook.  Fragile.  Why?  How do I process the aftermath of this decision.  Trying.  Failing.  Trying.  I just keep pushing until I’m upright again.  And I know it won’t be long before I see a sparkle off the tip of another needle that will cause me to come crashing down again.


But I have to remember those pieces.  I still have them... and I know it will be okay.  I know that WE will all be okay.





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