A Daughter’s Lament

The Devil is sitting on our shoulder… marching us towards forgetfulness

The Devil is sitting on our shoulder… marching us towards forgetfulness

Enticing us to forget.

Beckoning us to La La Land, where worries don’t exist, and sadness no longer hovers.

As we gradually lose the ability to process our traumas, the escape route draws nearer.

Weighed down by the heaviness of our grief, no longer able to navigate the high seas of life.

We’ve been set adrift by not enough ballast in our storage centers.

Tossing and turning with the waves, unable to find our true North.

Forgetting to drop our anchor, we drift further out to sea.

There’s a choice to be made every moment.

We can choose to stay present and feel uncomfortable.

Or we can choose to be distracted and forget to feel.

Forgetting however, is a slippery slope, like a comfortable bed which cushions us.

A daughter’s lament

Helplessly, I watch the tears come forth each time we mention her best friend.

It didn’t seem to matter how many weeks or months or even years went by, the response was always the same.

Until it wasn’t.

It was a subtle shift; I don’t think any of us saw it coming.

When someone stops a behavior that makes you uncomfortable, we forget to notice it’s absence.

It’s a relief, not to helplessly sit by and watch your mother cry and suffer.

On some level we knew, when her best friend died, that something would change.

We were going to have to watch her carefully.

Never quite knowing when the last straw will break a heart tethered together by a lifetime of wounds.

No one can protect us from feeling our sadness, except our self.

We follow the Pied Piper away from our mind, away from our broken heart.

Letting go of our cares, worries, and resting in that timeless reality.

It is enticing to drift out the window, into the peaceful bliss of forgetfulness.

The devil comes knocking.

He’s always ready to take you in.

The backstory

Imagine a life with unimaginable losses, children dying.

The walls go up around that beating heart, dressed in survivor’s guilt.

Locked in pain, rigidity sets in.

Each little bit of stiffness chips away at her flexibility.

Stored deep within the core, her anger and sorrow lie festering.

It’s like compound interest.

Each subsequent loss adds to the pile and weakens the foundation further.

Eventually, reaching the point of no return.

The loss that breaks the camel’s back causes the dam to burst.

And all the past griefs are woken up, begging to be dealt with.

The backlog of grief spills out and overwhelms her.

Her ability to process grief in a timely manner was lost long ago.

The skill to tuck away the pain no longer serves her.

Escaping the now is the only solution.

Freedom from suffering waves a mighty flag.

And a lighter load is so much easier to carry, off into the Bliss.

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