thirty.
that’s how many years it took you to try.
one.
that’s how many years you tried until you gave up. again.
you walked out of my life thirty one years ago. willingly.
you’d come back in just to see how much of my heart you could twist up into knots. how many pieces you could leave on the ground when you walked out again.
“put your mother on the phone, you aren’t my daughter anymore.”
words of hatred you spit at me when i was twelve.
you set the bar for what i thought i deserved.
you reminded me every year that i was not enough for you.
it took me a lot of years to understand this was not about me. this was your insecurities to work through.
but, that didn’t stop my heart from hurting. that didn’t stop me from questioning my self-worth. that didn’t stop the questions of why I wasn’t good enough for a phone call on Christmas, a card on my birthday. it didn’t stop me from putting this burden on my shoulders.
as a child, this is not a weight I should have had to carry.
as an adult, this is something I’ve had to learn to sift through.
sometimes sitting on the floor, dumping all the contents out and attempting to make sense of it all - again. one more time.
you asked for another chance. the hundredth one i have given.
i went against my better judgment.
i let you in again.
to my life and my children’s.
i gave you an opportunity to prove me wrong.
once again, venom was spewed in my direction.
and instantly i was a twelve year old girl, sitting on my bed crying - wondering how i allowed you to do this to me again.
it wasn’t my burden to carry then
and it’s not my burden to carry now.
i didn’t owe you anything.
it wasn’t my responsibility to make you feel secure.
it wasn’t you who needed to heal.
i was all sewn back up.
you took the stitches out - left me bleeding on my own.
i will be okay.
because i was raised by the two most loving people.
i will be okay.
because my dad loved me. on my darkest days. during my stormiest nights.
because he’s warm.
he’s encouraging.
he’s kind.
he’s gentle.
he’s understanding.
he’s caring.
he’s sincere.
he’s honest and trustworthy.
he doesn’t have to try. he just is.
this is my goodbye.
this is the end of this chapter.
the end of this book.
i will sign the last page as my promise to myself, i will close it, put it on a shelf as a lesson learned
and i will never open it again.
