Let’s Start From the Beginning

 Writing “Father, King” almost broke me. More on that later, but for now just know it wasn't the easiest process. It ripped me apart, and Jesus put me back together in the sweetest of ways. Writing gives me joy, but the process of writing my life story, pouring my heart into that book was taxing. When I finished writing, I needed other things to write that explored my thoughts without the bone crushing weariness. The excerpt below is from a writing contest I entered, and the prompt simply states, ‘tell of a time you overcame and obstacle or persevered.’ I hope you enjoy.

“What I hear you saying is you don’t want to live like this anymore.” 

            I stared at my leg where my ankles were crossed.  I had missed a spot while shaving this morning. There was hair right above the bone on my ankle.  How was there hair there?  The hair was too long, like I’d missed that spot multiple times in a row.  I swear I shaved in methodical straight lines, all the way around my legs.  How could I keep missing the same spot?  I was an adult for crying out loud.  I should know how to shave my legs by this point, but apparently I wasn’t capable of that.

            Showering in the mornings was a luxury.  I spent most of my mornings getting the kids out of bed, reminding them to keep getting ready, and making sure they had everything they needed to get out the door.  My work as a real estate agent came at a furious pace, so every day I dropped the kids off at school and immediately went to work.  There was just never enough time in the day – especially for a nice, hot shower.  

            Working in real estate, image was important.  People are noble and say they don’t care about your appearance, but if I couldn’t put myself together in the morning, how could I manage a real estate transaction that was probably the most money someone had ever spent in their life?  The last thing I needed was wolverine leg hair snaking off my leg and revealing to the world that I didn’t truly have it all together after all.  My life was a sham.

            “Jess?” my therapist asked, “You still with me?”

            The thoughts about my leg hair stilled.  Right, we were talking about the pain – the pain I had been avoiding my entire life.  I was alone.  Completely and utterly alone.  

            My father married a woman named Penny when I turned eight years old.  The summer after they married, Penny, my brother and I were in a car accident.  We hit another car head on and once the car stopped spinning, I watched her die next to me.  Eight years old was too young to be trapped in close quarters with her dying body, rivers of blood pouring out of her nose and mouth.  After Penny died, my father was a shell of a man.  His eyes were vacant.  The man he was ceased to exist.  Six weeks after I watched Penny die, my father took a shotgun to his bloody stump of a heart and ended the pain he was feeling.

            He ended his pain, but mine had only begun.

My eyes filled with tears as I gnawed on my lower lip.  My hands were wringing together, giving me something to focus on.  I could hardly see as I lifted my head, my therapist’s face blurred by the pools in my eyes.  My chest beat faster until it felt like I was only heartbeat and blood pumping through my body.  I took a breath and opened my mouth but no air would leave.  I shook my head and put my head back down, unable to force a sound. 

            The tears blurred every line in my vision.  A gentle hum rang in my ears, a slow crescendo building to a raging wind.  Anger grew as I fought the urge to run from the room.  I didn’t want to be here.  I didn’t want to deal with this right now.  I had three more appointments after this, showings with customers who wanted to buy a house and I didn’t have time to try and process this right now.  

            “You’re doing a good job, Jess.  You’ve made it this far, and you’ve proven that you can be resilient… “

            “I don’t WANT to be resilient anymore!” I screamed as I cut her off.  “I don’t freaking WANT to have to persevere and fight anymore.  You don’t GET IT.  None of this is my fault!  I didn’t cause any of this pain.  All of these things have been done TO me, not BY me.  Why am I the one that has to keep fighting?”  I gasped for air after my outburst.  My eyes were wide, surprise etched in my features – disbelief that those words and feelings had left my mouth.  My chest heaved as I gulped in breaths.  A sob broke from inside me, and as the tears poured from my eyes, I curled into myself and wrapped my arms around my middle.  

            A gentle hand rested on my shoulder.  My therapist didn’t say a word.  Her hand patted my shoulder as sobs shook my body, allowing me space to grieve the loss of everything I loved.  Twenty years of tears poured from my body as I finally gave myself the space I needed to be sad.  Time held still as my pain filled the room and demanded to be felt.  Slowly, as the energy drained from my limbs and the crying stopped, I took stock of what was left.  My head was pounding and my nose so stuffy I couldn’t smell a thing.  My eyes were swollen from the tears.  My entire body ached, but surprisingly all that was left was calm.  

            I sucked in a deep breath and with a shaky exhale, I began to lift my head up from where I’d been resting it on my legs.  Another deep breath and I sat up straight.  I grabbed a tissue from the box on my right and started to wipe away the tears.  My therapist moved back to her chair across from me and sat in silence as I collected myself.  The pain I had cried out hung like a fog in the room.  

What would I do with this pain?  Did I even want to fight anymore?  I could give up like he did.  ‘NO,’ my mind revolted at the thought.  There was no way I would do what he did – cause pain like he caused.  I couldn’t quit.

I could choose to ignore it, to run and pretend it didn’t exist.  No one would even know that there was pain.  I was put together.  I had lost weight, I dressed the part, and I was happy.  If I just went on playing pretend, would I ever be ok?  Could I live with myself?

               No, that wouldn’t work either.  That was why I was here.  The pain inside of me made me edgy.  It made me someone I didn’t want to be.  When the pain ruled my mind, I was hardened and cold.  I hurt other people so they couldn’t hurt me first.

            I couldn’t live like this anymore.  The pain made me think the world was simply cold and there to hurt me, but I couldn’t believe that lie anymore.  There was good in the world.  I’d seen it with my own two eyes.  I saw it in the eyes of my daughter when she asked for a hug before bed.  I saw it in the eyes of the stranger at the grocery store, smiling and wishing me a Merry Christmas.  I saw it now in the eyes of my therapist as she gave me space to decide what I wanted to do.  I couldn’t go on believing the world was all bad.  My father had done a bad thing.  I had experienced a bad wreck, but that didn’t mean that everything was bad.  There was still good.  

I knew what I had to do.  

            It was time to move forward and fight.  I didn’t want to.  I didn’t want to be the one to fight.  None of the pain was my fault, but someone had to do the work.  Someone had to heal.  It was the only choice I had left.  The pain of the past wouldn’t stop me from having a future.   

            “Are you ready?” she asked, sensing my decision. I looked her in the eyes and nodded.  “Ok, let’s start from the beginning.” 

            “It was really sunny out the day Penny died.  It was just a blistering heat that day…”