The snow falls softly around us, taking us into the chill of its fingers.
I don't know what has happened to you, you cry and cry in your two year old voice.
"I'm a-scared, I'm a-scared" When I ask of who? you say "Daddy".
I wasn't a witness, I wasn't there to protect you. All I know is the anger
I saw when he grabbed you and walked to the door. I know you
well enough to know you went rigid and wouldn't probably go into
your car seat. Yet, you are strapped in when I arrive ready to go.
All you do is cry, loudly, then softly as he turns up the radio to
drown out your wails. We all know we are walking on eggshells
right now. If any of us pushes, voices anything we will confront
rage and our own hurt. So silence reins. A silence of fear of
what is next. This is where we are in the next. At home in a
terrible storm with flakes falling as silent witness to our plight.
Of being outside, outside of the norm, outside of the house,
outside in our hurt. Because these hurts are not believable to
the outside. Finally, when I take the steps to protect you both,
we are not believed in our stories. Our word against his, yet
the whole creation has watched us walk and cry and be hurt.
What witness will it take to be believed? Why is your crying
and refusing to go in not enough? How can we live in a reality
that is so cold, so foreign, so brutal on us? Yet somehow we
lived through the unbelief, the cold hard beauty and the moment
is caught in my memory forever. Because it was a step to the edges
of freedom, one incident that made me realize, no matter the unbelief,
we deserved to enjoy this storm and the flakes falling and cry no more.
I don't know what has happened to you, you cry and cry in your two year old voice.
"I'm a-scared, I'm a-scared" When I ask of who? you say "Daddy".
I wasn't a witness, I wasn't there to protect you. All I know is the anger
I saw when he grabbed you and walked to the door. I know you
well enough to know you went rigid and wouldn't probably go into
your car seat. Yet, you are strapped in when I arrive ready to go.
All you do is cry, loudly, then softly as he turns up the radio to
drown out your wails. We all know we are walking on eggshells
right now. If any of us pushes, voices anything we will confront
rage and our own hurt. So silence reins. A silence of fear of
what is next. This is where we are in the next. At home in a
terrible storm with flakes falling as silent witness to our plight.
Of being outside, outside of the norm, outside of the house,
outside in our hurt. Because these hurts are not believable to
the outside. Finally, when I take the steps to protect you both,
we are not believed in our stories. Our word against his, yet
the whole creation has watched us walk and cry and be hurt.
What witness will it take to be believed? Why is your crying
and refusing to go in not enough? How can we live in a reality
that is so cold, so foreign, so brutal on us? Yet somehow we
lived through the unbelief, the cold hard beauty and the moment
is caught in my memory forever. Because it was a step to the edges
of freedom, one incident that made me realize, no matter the unbelief,
we deserved to enjoy this storm and the flakes falling and cry no more.
Comments
Post a Comment