I write when I am complete…when my love, my fear, my pain is whole…when I get what it is I am feeling.
I write from a place of understanding…from acceptance…from the perspective of journey’s end.
Last year, I didn’t write.
I was torn up inside and out. I was in too much pain about my past, about my family and about you.
I didn’t forget though.
I went to visit you.
I stared across at the mountain and I felt the hole you left in me.
But I didn’t cry.
I was angry.
I was so, incredibly angry.
And I couldn’t write.
This year was hard for me.
It was a struggle to push through every day…to survive…
I missed you so much…there were times I wanted to be with you.
It hurt…so badly…and the anger simmered beneath it all.
The anger has always been there…I just accepted it as part of me…and didn’t realize how it was consuming me.
Because it’s not fair.
Non of it.
It’s not fair that I didn’t get to have a childhood.
It’s not fair that you didn’t get to have a life.
It’s not fair that I have had to wade through everything that has been thrown at me…and still have to take responsibility.
It’s been hell.
But I’m writing now.
So that means I’m complete.
And I am.
I have come to accept me as I am…complete with the hole you left inside me…
Complete with the pain of my childhood…
Complete with the loss of my family…
Complete with the shame I sometimes feel for no reason at all…
The hurt that curls me into a ball of tears…
The emptiness I feel without you…
I am complete…a whole vessel with many holes…
I am loved.
You are loved.
We talk about you all the time. We light a candle every week for you. We call you brother and son. You are very much loved.
It’s been ten years now…
And I will never let you go…
Because you make me whole…
You make me complete.