In rehab, my counselor sent me to Grief Group because I laugh and joke too much.
I thought maybe she just wanted to stop me by making me grieve about something. She said I was stuffing some kinda grief.
Ok, fine. I submit to her authority. I got a lot of grief worked out that I wasn't worried about BEFORE. I'd forgiven dad 12 years ago. But I didn't really pound it out. So I did this time.
Too late to make ammends. He died. So I wrote this poym to document my forgiveness.
I still laugh and joke too much. They didn't steal MY joy!
It's often been the only thing I like about me. If it bugs YOU ............... TOO BAD!
The dark side of the moon is not always dark.
Thereâ€™s only one side we see.
Our side, it waxes and wanes
Much as what is me.
My moods, they change with every need,
And so the way I act.
The trick, you see, is how I cope
So my words I donâ€™t have to redact.
Often I know the reason why
I hide what I really feel.
To save another from any discomfort
My words may unkindly reveal.
Or in a crowd I know not well,
With them I will not share,
The me thatâ€™s meshed deep dark within.
THAT pear I will not pare.
The me you see is the me Iâ€™ve spent
Some decades in the build.
Some things I built, I knew not why,
And some took care and skill.
Plans for my facades were lost,
Their purpose still unfound.
Yet others aged from wear and tear
And crumbled to the ground.
In effort to retrace my pains
And smash what walls are left.
I must uncover all the ruins
That keep me so bereft.
My father left me long ago,
A monster in his stead.
Darkness and terror filled the air
Around my nightmare bed.
Humiliation seemed to be
His favorite teaching tool.
The neighbors strolled in one by one
To see a bed-wetting fool.
When Aâ€™s did not appear on cards,
And teachers were annoyed
With the stupid, squirrelly, goofy kid,
The belt was then deployed.
At football, track and wrestling, too,
I excelled, to my surprise.
But dad would never see me play.
I was nothing in his eyes.
From dad, we younger kids received
Our fun and joy and laughter
We all believed in Santa Claus
For many years thereafter.
All the love I had from dad
Is lost in haze of age.
I can't recall much else that was
Before he was lost in rage.
Gone for weeks, heâ€™d grace our door
With cursing, hate, and beer.
Nary a peaceful day had we.
We went to bed with tears.
But older now, I understand
What dad so long endured.
The "beast" had stolen everything
He once found sweet and pure.
I feel his pain and loss of self
He lives still strong in me.
But even drink cannot make me
Be him. Iâ€™m kind and free.
I forgive my dad for all the wrong
He forced on me at length.
He owes me naught, the debt erased.
Oh, God, give me the strength.
Dad will not continue on
To cause me to be crazed.
With tools of love and sorrow sweet,
His grotto has been razed.
TimS â€“ 1/09