I was recently reminded that the baggage we carry around eventually has a way of bringing us to our knees. Sometimes, our knees buckle immediately. Most times though, this is a gradual process. Our shoulders roll forward under the weight, which goes by unnoticed. After awhile, our back begins to ache; our hand instinctively begins to rub the site of the ache. Oh, that knot on the back of your neck; the one that never seems to go away, no matter how many times you roll your shoulders.
My past– the unresolved, the heartbreaking, the words unsaid, this is the baggage that I carry around with me. It is the ball and chain shackled to my ankle, with no regard to the bruising that it causes. It drags on the floor with each step forward I attempt to take.
I think of you a lot more now that I’m an adult. Believe me, I wish that I didn’t. If I could rid you from my mind and memories, I would. The problem though is that I’m not so focused on the past memories, but those that are unmade. You can no longer be a part of my life. Were you ever, truly? As I begin to accept that I want(ed) you to be, I mourn for the reality that you won’t be; that just breaks my heart. Had things have been different, you would have been.
You would have taught me the meaning of unconditional love. Because of this lesson, I would know, without a doubt, how a man is suppose to love a woman. This would have eventually led to the happily ever after. It would have led me to an aisle. The aisle that you will never get to walk me down. The walk where I should have leaned on you to keep me up. It would have been your hands that gave me away. It should have been.
My heart breaks for my child(ren). The young faces that will never lay eyes on you. I am so close with my grandfather. It saddens my beyond comprehension to know that you will never protect them as mine has. They will never get to experience that once in a lifetime relationship. Well, they might, but it will never be through you. You see, I wish that it were easy to leave you behind. But how can I do that when your memory exists not only in the past, but in the future, too?
How can there be resolution from which there is no absolution?
I’m not sure I will ever get the answers I seek, the answers I believe, secretly, I need. While I don’t know that I’m ready to deal with this, I will acknowledge it, hoping that it is a start.Published in