Joyous Holidays

Joy fills the air and laughter fills your ears. Smiles on people’s faces and you can’t help but feel the heart soften.
Ah yes, it softens. Yes the holidays once again are near. With that brings the reminders why I just really do not like the holidays…
I just left my young sons room where he lay in his bed just staring at the wall as he rested his head on his flannel covered pillow. I asked what was wrong, he said nothing. I told him goodnight, I loved him and that is when he turned to me. In a voice that you could tell mustered all the courage he had, he asked, “Mom, do you know where dad is yet?’
I stopped. Looked into his eyes and saw the tears he was fighting back and I walked over to him. I sat on the bed, wrapping my arm across him tightly. I breathed in deeply, here, my son needed an answer and I wish I could have given him the one he sought. Instead, with heavy disappointment, yet with all the tenderness a mother’s heart can carry I answered ‘No baby, but as soon as I do, I will let you know.”
The room grew still. The air grew thick with sorrow and longing. The pain weighing so heavily it’s as if gravity tripled in that very moment. I stroked my son’s hair gently and did not move from that spot.

Watching the tears of abandonment, of loneliness, form in my baby’s eyes as he longed for someone who would not come. As he ached for someone who would never again hold him. I tried to soothe his hurt. I tried to mend the tare in his heart. I tried to patch the hole that gapped with loss, but I could not. There are some things even all the love in a mother’s heart cannot heal. There are some things all a mother’s magical kisses cannot soothe. This is one of those.

Yes, it’s the holidays.
I remember why I hate the holidays.

You judge me for looking normal. Really? Is that what you see?

You wear the marks of cutting to bring the pain to the surface. I wear the smile of always trying to hide the myriad of abuse, the belittling, the shame.

You bare you tattoos as a mark to let the world know what you think. I bare lack of memory for trying so hard to forget what all the world knew.

You display your piercings to proudly announce your break from society’s norms. I display simplicity to proudly announce I survived them.

You boldly claim your sexuality. I unleash mine in safety still remembering the repreaves when I didn’t.

You wear whatever you want and encourage people to look. I try to blend in to encourage anyone not to notice.

You say I am normal. Fine, a title I’ll graciously accept and gladly wear as honor. But when you look in the mirror and are content in who you see. Remember Normal can still barely glance at its own reflection, still scared to remember what it saw.