In looking back I really don’t want to rehash the events unless there is something to be gained. The wounds are healing, but are still fresh. What became clear when the smoke had cleared is how much I love MM and how much the thought of losing her was more devastating to me than almost any other loss of which I could conceive. We have become so close that both of us have to learn to be more caring and careful for each others’ hearts.
MM came over yesterday – thank God for that – and we held each other, made love, and realized that what we have is made of tough stuff. I don’t give up on the people that I love. Because these people can play havoc with my well-being – not because they choose to, but because I love so deeply and completely – I am very guarded about who gets that sort of access to me. MM and my daughters are the three that have that unfettered access. Obviously, there is a different quality to the love, but it is complete and profound.
Today my eyes still hurt from crying. I am still deeply exhausted (not physically but emotionally). I still feel somewhat tender, but recovering from the shock. MM is not a cruel person. That is what threw me when she began yelling on Thursday. Looking back, I know that I was the occasion, not the issue. At the moment all I wondered is what I did. That is a throwback to my childhood. I was regularly beaten for “good reason.” If I cried as a child my father’s line was, “Stop crying before I give you reason to cry…” Needless to say that inculcated a sense of fear that still haunts me. There are moments that I still feel like a crying child wondering why he was beaten again…
I knew I that I had to have done something, I just knew it…
MM assured me that I did nothing. She was gracious in owning up to her part in the events of the past couple of days. What more can be asked? It was difficult for me to believe that I had done nothing, though. That child is still afraid to be held because it has been mistreated so many times. He knows that he is worthless, so why not be an object of scorn and derision?
The poem by Wordsworth comes to mind: “The child is the father of the man.” I hope that his child has been a more compassionate parent than those that sired and birthed him. I try. Damn, do I try…
I was blog browsing... I came across a random generator that could make me into a mixed drink! I always thought of myself as a very dry vodka martini, with three olives. Here is the recipe to make me.
| How to make a Pablo |
| Ingredients:
3 parts anger 3 parts courage 5 parts instinct |
| Method:
Add to a cocktail shaker and mix vigorously. Top it off with a sprinkle of caring and enjoy! |
