by WC Child
For a brief moment, another memory flashed through my mind. I remembered the screams, the fear, the finality and the relief of that night. I immediately shook my head from side to side in an effort to dismiss any thoughts of regret. I couldn’t change the past, yet something in me still held the sadness from that night. I knew what I said then, but the person I was trying to become demanded more from me. Maybe someday I would fully embrace the life lessons I had been taught while I lived there.
Chapter 33
Unearthed
I made my way down the back stairs to the kitchen where I observed visions of myself standing on my tiptoes trying to reach the stove. I smiled. I remembered how I had labored under the tutelage of Big Mama’s watchful eyes. I worked diligently to imitate her culinary skills. I loved sharing those times with her and learned well from the master. I breathed in deeply, trying to capture the fragrant aromas that escaped from those seasoned pots and pans.
I continued moving across the kitchen to the back door. I was caught up in a moment when my hand rested on the door frame. That very door had witnessed Adam’s sneaking into the home the night I chose to give myself to him. It had also been his avenue of safe passage after our pregnancy announcement. My life had shifted drastically between the opening and closing of that door over such a short interval of time. I wondered if I would have done things differently. Perhaps, but I could honestly say I would not have changed the joy and the sense of beauty and belonging I felt with Adam. My only regret was my not being mentally prepared for what came at the end of love.
I slowly opened the back door. The hinges loudly noted their displeasure from being disturbed. The open door brought much-needed freshness to the house. The reminders of my past found an escape route down the back stairs. They were committed to nudging me in the direction of yesterday. Looking out the back door brought back memories that were buried years ago. My mind seized at the moment my body was freed from the destruction caused by one inhumane action. The haunting visions and screams that couldn’t be contained in the upper rooms invaded my mind. I covered my ears to insulate myself from the internal noise. It got louder. I wanted no part of those memories. I quickly exited the house to escape the reach of those skeletons.
I stood in the middle of the back yard and removed my hands from my ears. The voices from the past continued to stalk me from all directions. I heard my name whispered by the winds and trees, wondering if I was the same lost soul who once scrambled to exit the place of shadows and secrets. I was entranced as I headed across the yard in the direction of the place I vowed never to return. I felt powerless to reject the invitation when the past beckoned me to come closer. When my feet realized they were at the edge of the woods, they rebelled. The rest of my body agreed. The last time they came in contact with the dark, damp soil of my past, they were going in the opposite direction. In contrast, my mind and body agreed that running away was not what was best for me. I hoped the hidden place in the woods contained the salve that would heal some of my hidden wounds and ease part of the suffering I had endured for far too many years.
With all the courage I could muster, I boldly stepped through the tree-lined portal into my past. I retraced my steps to the place where I hoped my healing could begin. I didn’t remember much about that entire episode, but I did recall the spot was marked by a tree with a cross carved on it. Recognition of the landmark took my breath away as I began to acknowledge what I had avoided out of survival. I had been wrong about the value of the life that peacefully rested there. It was time I accepted my child. It bore no shame, caused me no harm and was as much a victim as I was. The disdain I felt for my baby was a combination of misplaced aggression and fear. Back then, I didn’t know if I could have loved it, given the nature of its origin. Standing there I admitted to myself that I loved it from its first fluttering movement. After going thru the disappointments of an unrealized bundle, I often wondered if I was being punished from not cherishing the child I didn’t appreciate. All I could do was admit my mistakes, ask for forgiveness and finally put this matter to rest. The residual effect of that open wound had troubled my soul and fueled bad decisions in my life for far too long. Closure, was long overdue.
Kneeling at the spot where I predicted its grave to be, I surrendered my anger and my guilt to the heavens as my tears watered the earth. I never imagined the freedom I would feel by deciding to just let go. Pounds of dead weight vacated my being and space was made for something good. With that being finished, I decided it was time to name my child. Below the cross I carved the name “Agape”. If anyone happened to find our special place, they would know love was there.
I suddenly realized that had it not been for Big Mama, I never would have had an opportunity for freedom. I had wanted all traces of its life to be thrown away in those bed coverings. I silently thanked her for her wisdom. I sat quietly next to the tree and absorbed the beauty and peacefulness of the surroundings. Understanding it was my final visit, I placed one hand on my heart and one on the heart on the tree. Then, I said my final goodbye. My first child and I were both free from my misgivings and united by love.
When I finally exited the woods, I didn’t run, I walked. The sorrow from that part of my past had finally been released. I had made peace with the child I was and the one that was lost. The rustling leaves of the trees and the high-pitched sonata of the cicadas serenaded me with admiration. I lingered in the back yard after exiting the woods. I tried to capture all that was available for me to store in my soul for future strength. I knew it was my last trip to what I once referred to as my summer home. There was nothing left for me there. I relished in the faint sounds of laughter and Big Mama’s stern voice telling us to stop running thru her clean sheets. I saw visions of me and my friends playing hide and go seek, walking on tin stilts, prematurely raiding the vegetable garden and helping white-haired dandelions find their place in the wind. All those things represented the joyous times of my youth and the good life I had spent there with my grandparents.
After making my way back around to the front of the house, half of me rejoiced, the other half remained unsettled. I felt released, but not forgiven. I hadn’t emptied the buckets of confusion trapped in the wells of my mind. I questioned the divine purpose of my visit. I asked myself if I would have been able to move past the hidden sorrow without the intervention in the woods. My answer was no. I had unintentionally bumped into closure searching for forgiveness. Both were needed, but only one was fulfilled that day. The one thing I wanted most had not been accomplished. I still felt distant from Big Mama. I feared she didn’t know how much I truly loved her and how sorry I was for the words I didn’t get to share.
It had been good for me to feel the safety from being home, but I knew my time there had come to an end. On the way to my car, I grabbed more memories for safekeeping. I recalled the sights and sounds of the country and the faintest whistle of the trains destined to flatten our pennies. I smiled at our childish antics and tried to count how much money we had sent down the tracks.
Walking away was more difficult than I could have imagined. I understood the distance between this house and me would only grow greater. I balked at the concept of never returning, but I refused to depart with sadness. Love had lived there, I had been its beneficiary, and in the grand scheme of things, nothing but the love had ever really mattered. As I turned to say my final goodbye to my childhood home, my eyes couldn't help but find their way back to the porch swing. Even though there was no wind, the swing was slowly moving back and forth. I waved in its direction and said "I love you too Big Mama". I wanted to believe her presence had been closer than I realized.
Chapter 34
Evolution
It had been days since returning from the old house and I still could not shake the sadness that engulfed my spirit. While I had made peace with my first child, I still needed to be forgiven by Big Mama. I was unsure of how that could happen. No amount of standing over her grave or profuse praying would
elevate this loss to a Lazarus situation.
My grief was funny and unpredictable. It didn’t show on my face as the acid of loss ate away at my soul. It consumed me and dimmed my inner lightness in an effort to fuel its greedy existence. With each passing day, I fought hard to distance myself from it and return to what I considered normal. Most days I struggled to don a professional appearance after waking up with swollen eyes that were matted shut after a nocturnal emission of salty tears. My eyes were not black as Big Mama had predicted, they were red and my mind was filled with blues. Any progress in the direction of normalcy that occurred during the day was wiped away each time I returned home. Most thoughts and actions eventually returned to guilt and sadness. Eventually, work became no match for grief either. It gobbled up the fruits of that labor and spit out unemployment. It had me all to itself. Before long, grief gave birth to its love child, depression. That newborn had a voracious appetite that fueled its subtle replication process. It took over where grief left off and continued to stroke my tortured soul. My body and mind needed comfort and I succumbed to the first forces that could satisfy those requirements.
Depression made it easy for me. It allowed me to wallow in my sorrow while it continued to keep its presence inviting. It required nothing, expected nothing, offered nothing, and criticized nothing. It loved on me and encouraged me to stay with it a little longer. No one understood how I felt and depression told me it was okay to have it around. We cohabitated until I didn’t recognize myself. I became content with going days on end with hair that resembled tumbleweeds and a bodily odor that I never knew was humanly possible to exude. I became a prisoner of my own mind, space and time. I didn’t eat regularly, entertained irrational thoughts regarding the importance of my existence and cried. I allowed depression to stay with me and play with my thoughts as it matured inside me.
I recognized depression as the same beast that held my mother captive and allowed her to be lost in its arms. The same inability to function she exhibited after the loss of my father was lodging within me. I remembered clutching her as she lay in her bed weeping. I tried desperately to hold on to the pieces of her that I needed. I remembered the feeling of her latching onto me as if she feared I would go away too. I had been her lifeline and the reason she fought so hard to stay connected to something loving and familiar. For a while, I had been her rock on the shoreline of uncertainty. Eventually my anchor had not been enough to conquer the demons that infested her mind. She let me go to save me. Who could save me now? I had no one. I questioned if I deserved to be saved.
There was a constant tug of war going on inside my mind between truth and conjecture. Dark forces inside me fought for the empty space I carried around every day. Some days I was startled into reality after spending joyful time with Big Mama in my dreams. We were together at the old house. I was happy and content in her presence. I pleaded with her not to leave me each time she slowly faded away. When I was awake, our connection was lost. I often begged sleep to rescue me from the sadness of those days.
There were some nights when sleep eluded me and took away my opportunity to dream about happier times. Daybreak arrived and I laid there asking myself why I couldn’t close my eyes. Why couldn’t I get some relief from my own mind? Big Mama often said it was always darkest before the dawn, but for me, the darkness was unending. I experienced no light. When nature dictated all should be silent and peaceful while the refreshing process took place, the inner turmoil held me captive and churned uncontrollably. It wrestled with my peace and pierced my thoughts until the newness of another day broke free. My mind became layered in darkness before the light could shine through. I eventually expected nothing but the same each day and was unbothered when I was rewarded with those expectations.
Other days I spent countless hours just holding myself while I rocked forward and backward with no purpose. I stared into oblivion through vacant eyes and waited for comfort and clarity to come. Maybe they’d find me tomorrow, or the day after that, or maybe even the day after that. It really didn’t matter when or if they chose to show up; my reality would remain the same. I would still be there alone. No one would even notice my absence from their lives.
In my younger days when life pressed up against me, I often sought comfort in the ample lap of Big Mama, where love engulfed me thru the smell of Ponds cold crème and songs from breaths that held the distant aroma of Folgers coffee. I never understood how much her unconditional love would become the foundation for a well of hope whose bucket and rope were never too empty or too short. How I longed for those carefree days and the unlimited amount of love that guided my life.
I needed inspiration to find myself again. I had a cohabitation agreement with depression and it would keep me wrapped in its expansive arms for as long as I stayed there. Contentment became my enemy. I was dissolving away like Alka Seltzer in a glass of water. I felt powerless to stop it. When the fizzing sound stopped, I feared it would be the end of my sanity.
Chapter 35
Intercession
I questioned my ability to move forward after I tried for weeks to get back to what I considered normal. I didn’t see the point. The outward proof of my worth, my babies, Big Mama, even my mother, was all gone. I was without a lot of things. I lacked direction, love, ambition, pity, anger and anything that made me know I was still alive. I didn’t care much about anything that tempted me to move beyond the confines of my bed. I often told myself to get out of bed, but never did. My reality wouldn’t change if I sat on the couch in the lonely apartment instead of lying in the bed. I felt dead, but just hadn’t been buried. I saw no reason to get up from my pillowtop grave. At least it wanted me. It was not bothered by my presence. Big Mama often talked about the restorative magic of nighttime and moments of clarity that followed after a good night’s sleep. I had been sleeping for days but restoration still avoided me. Nothing was clear anymore.
My mind could control many things, but it could not control nature. No matter how I tried to avoid it, I had bodily functions that could not be denied. I couldn’t remember the last time I consumed anything other than water. I needed to eat something. The groaning and gurgling sounds emanating from my stomach signaled agreement with that decision. Like it or not, the kitchen had to be my destination.
As I passed the bathroom, my eyes caught a glimpse of a lighted fragrance bulb blinking near the vanity. I was certain the bulb had burned out already and the fragrance evaporated from it long ago. Once I entered the room, the aroma was not the smell of jasmine or lavender, but of coffee. I thought about how strange it was to buy a room refresher that smelled like that. Surely the smell was the result of a burning refill that needed to be replaced. To the touch, the unit was cold. It would have been impossible to cause fragrance to be cast across any space. I was puzzled. I was certain the light had flickered on and off.
When I changed my focus from my momentary investigation of the great fragrance caper, I caught a reflection in the mirror that was not of me. I had not recently worn braids or glasses, my face was not that square and my nose was not that size. I flinched in recognition of the image staring back at me as my senses were being bathed in the overwhelming smell of coffee. I slowly reached forward to touch the distorted reflection of what I logically knew should have been myself, but appeared to be Big Mama. I clearly understood the impossibility, but still hoped to feel the warmth of the touch from gentle fingers I remembered from long ago. In my search for reconciliation, my fingers abruptly felt the rigidity of the cold surface that kept me away from the one thing I needed most. I longed for the connection from someone who loved me and knew how to comfort me until my pain, anguish and fear moved on to their next victim.
To my amazement, the vision moved. A hand reached out to meet mine. A loving smile and words from familiar lips said, “I love you baby. I know you didn’t mean any of those things you said. You were still hurting. I already forgave you. Everything is going to be alright. Your babies are here with me. I’ll
take care of them until you get here. But right now, you’ve got to start living again. You deserve some happiness.”
The image of Big Mama slowly faded and the reflection transformed into my own likeness. My fingers remained pressed against the glass until I couldn’t physically hold them there any longer. Like raindrops making their way down a window, my fingers found their way to the end of the mirror, past the faucet and eventually found their resting place near my heart. I stood there in total disbelief. I didn’t know whether it was fact or fiction; if it was a dream or reality. I didn’t know whether I should laugh or cry; whether I should embrace the moment or discount it as an inappropriate gift from my grief. I gladly accepted the gift. I had been forgiven. Big Mama told me herself. I wrapped my arms around myself and rocked from side to side with gentleness and love the way Big Mama use to do. I cried for the joy that quickly surrounded my being. Relief came in knowing that the babies I grieved were fine. Big Mama had experienced the same type of loss and understood the need to ease my mind.
The tears fell harder and faster as I cried from the depths of my soul. They changed from constricting to cleansing. I was finally able to release my anguish back into the universe. I couldn’t carry it any longer. It had gotten too heavy. In the distance, I heard the clock chime six times. It was morning, and yes, my cleansing had begun. The solace of the morning and the intervention from Big Mama had given notice to squatters in my spirit that check out time had passed for anything that sought to hold me down. The grief hotel was permanently closed.
Chapter 36
Old Wounds
After all the heaviness of Big Mama's passing, the trip to my summer home, and the haunting vision of Big Mama, I was ready for some lightness. Everything about my current surroundings constantly reminded me of loss and fought against my recovery efforts. A layer of sadness covered everything around me. It felt like I was living in a tomb. Out of necessity, I knew I had to move in order to move on. Once I became committed to the process, it didn’t take long for my plan to come to fruition. I was excited for the opportunity to start over in new surroundings with a refreshed outlook on life.