(written in 2009)
The healer took
me in her arms and held me to her chest, eyes shut and cries stifled. I was
uncertain as to which of us was frightened more, as I trembled in cold fear
when she tried to steady me in a tight, comforting hold that only my mother
could provide.
As her eyes were
shut and warm tears were leaking slowly from them, mine were frozen in a wide
stare, jumping slightly from side to side due to the short, jerky movements of
my body. My shoulders were pinned down, and I could not feel where my arms
were; if they were glued heavily to my sides or if they were wrapped around her
body I could not tell—I was numb.
I felt her
swallow, lips pressing together then releasing, jaw loose and pained, brow
deepening without control.
She didn't speak.
She just held
me, body swaying softly, so soft and smooth that I could not remember when the
swaying began.
I felt my body
then moving with her, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, as she swayed
and swayed, and then began to dance. My mother and I danced, in the warm glow
of our home, clinging to the only comfort we had—each other.
I would remember
these moments for the rest of my days, those dances with my mother.
And when my
father died I danced with him too, perhaps to try and give him an ounce of the
comfort that my mother had once given me, when I killed him.
I can still see
the blinding lights, the beautiful powder snow that had freshly fallen from a
storm the night before.
And my
half-naked body that was dragged to its cold, biting surface.
I remember the
smell of burning wood, the sound of cries and pleading, the crackling of broken
glass.
I can still
taste the forgiving liquid, feel the thickness of the prayer candle; the way I
swooned and swirled when I went to light it, the way I knelt over and
surrendered myself to the floor to pray.
I can feel the
tears that I didn't cry, the desperate fear that I’d created; the fear that I
had been waiting for, for so very long.
The deafening
music, the resonating screams.
I held him at the spine and danced, danced
with the father whom I hated but loved so obediently.
The father who
destroyed everything human in me, who at last killed my mother after years of
torment, and later stole from me what I needed most to finally be whole.
But it was
alright.
Because now that
he is gone, seven years later, I have finally found a way to have what I was
always missing.
Seven years
later, in his echoing absence that is more deceitful than most, I have found a
way to be with what I couldn't live without.
I have finally
found a way to become whole.
