To my daddy

To my daddy:

I love you, I always will. You are my father, through the pain, our walk, our journey, you have led me much of the way. I've never given the credit you are due. You, nearly single handed, molded me into the woman I have become. I am no longer that little hesitant girl, that you eagerly welcomed into your home, overwhelmed with feelings of fear, confused about who I am, why it seemed I couldn't hold on to the ones I loved, leaving me feeling unloved, like the world was out to out to devour me. I am strong, passionate, determined... I am charge of my life. I no longer allow the world to dictate my path and destination. I owe to you these attributes, many in a positive perspective, some to the pain we've endured. Because you never allowed me to cry and wallow in the pity of circumstances beyond my control, you've enabled me to curb the harsh words of the world, you've instilled the importance of success and undying determination deep within my core. No matter how daunting the trail may seem, no matter how overgrown the cobblestone may appear, I can persevere and will triumph all obstacles in my way. However, the life of drugs and instability still inflicts my esteem, leaving me vulnerable to coy words, to promises of love and acceptance. Because we grew up in competition with the demons of addiction in your life, I question the intent of those claiming undying commitment. I'm coming to wonder if those rationalities will ever cease to dictate my restraints on commitment. I concede to the mentality, "maybe I'm just a broken person.".

I asked you many years ago, what ruined the happiness in your life... Do you remember this conversation? It was shortly after Jeffrey had moved in with me. I was so concerned about him. He seemed to be going down the wrong path... Your path. I would look at him and immediately felt like I was seeing you as a teenager, he had your body stance, your gestures, your attitude. He needed a positive male influence and he had no one came to you. You were in the garage on Armstrong, remnants of pot recently smoked lingered in the air.

Do you remember? This was during a time that your addictions distorted you, disfigured my daddy, the last person I had invested the only trust remaining after all my other bonds of trust had been shredded, smashed, devastated by the corruption in the lives of others. Do you remember your answer to my question?

"What destroyed all hopes of happiness in your life? When did you realize that you weren't meant to be happy?"

"To be honest Jamie, it was when I found out your mother was pregnant with you."

I do remember. Ten years later it still breaks my heart, ten years later I still hear the exhaustion in your voice, your contempt with the cards you were dealt. You never chose to fold, you never tapped out of that life, opting to follow the tide of self destruction. I don't think you meant those words... I hope you didn't mean those words... They still remind me, even in the hope of falsity, that I have never been loved unconditionally.

You were such an inspiring mentor during my soul searching teen years. I cherish our conversations on mathematics, the nature of science, religious theories, and selective mating. I'm still a proponent of Darwinism! No one in my life now knows the dad that I grew up with... So educated and focused on aspiring to live a good life, focused on providing a respectable life for his children. The drugs were still there, they never left, but they didn't dictate our world, our dysfunctional unity.

During one of these life lessons, we talked about breaking cycles of abuse. It is because of that powerful message, that message that screams, "IT STOPS HERE!!!", that I am writing today. It wasn't until recently that I realized how that message applied towards my life. You never abused us, even with your stern, seemingly military style, you always ensured we felt love too. I realized when Tina died that our charming, yet not quite average family was far more out of control than any of us had realized. For years I've ignored the substance abuse you two shared. I wanted to protect my children from seeing their mamaw and pawpaw as I had on so many occasions. There were several instances where I would consult Jeffrey to determine whether or not we should come for a visit. With Tina's death, I had the shocking epiphany that I had failed her as I had failed my own mother. Again, I let down the most important woman in my life, by not being strong enough to say that enough is enough, this is wrong, the cycle ends here and helping her fight these demons. I know I am failing you. I am overwhelmed with the fear that this will also be your fate. I am not strong enough to relieve your burdens. I am not strong enough to climb that mountain with you, beside you. I am not strong enough to stand outside a cold empty house, knowing your last breath had escaped your body, never able to get one more hug from you, those hugs that always shut the world out. I am not strong enough to protect my brothers and sisters from the cycle. I can't stop the cycle for anyone but myself.

I am breaking the cycle of addiction in my life. It is because I can now see that you can not leave that life behind, that I am forcing myself to leave my connections, all my ties to that life, in my past. I'm not pleading with you to chose me over the addiction, I know that mountain looms angrily over you, reminding you that this challenge is one that requires work that your bruised, battered body may not be able to conquer. The air, thick with fear and unresolved pain will never cease to invade your senses; confusing reality with the substance that offers a small ray of light, if even for just a moment in time. It is with a heavy heart, that I've come to this decision. Driving to work today, I said to myself,"Today's a beautiful day, I have so much to be grateful for and have so many wonderful, inspirational people in my life. I wouldn't trade one moment for anything in the world. This my time and it's amazing!"

I am finally coming to a point of equilibrium in my life. I am focused. I will graduate IU Kokomo in May of 2011 with a B.A. in Communication Arts and New Media Communication with a minor in English Writing. I am currently working as an intern with the IU professional journal, From The Well House: A Review of Literary Works, as a Communication Officer and Public Relations Officer. I will continue with this organization until I graduate. I am on track, finally. It is a relief for me to see the finish line. I will be successful. One day you'll pull a sample of my work off the bookshelf. This is MY day! I hope that I can make you proud. For years, I've never felt adequate in your eyes... It was like I was the black sheep of the family. You bonded with your like minded son, in the realm of drugs and there was no place for me in that world.

I love you, always. I just can't in clear conscience, stand idly by while the next generation succumbs to this world of addiction and I can't betray you either. It's best I walk away.

I'm sorry. I have faith that our paths are joined and will connect again. Until then please forgive me and please, please... I beg you, please save yourself. I know its not too late; it can't be too late.

Love your daughter,


Jamie

Gleefully tangible

I haven't written anything on here for awhile now. Partly because the therapist had suggested to start writing in a notebook, maybe for tangibility... Whatever the reason, I don't believe anything that I would have transcribed would have been more than self destruction.

It has been just over five months since I heard her voice, that gruff voice streaming over telephone lines, thick with irritation from the annoyance of a phone call at this time of day. In all reality, it was anytime of day, her rugged hello had the ability to cause even the most thick-skinned, balls-to-the-wall determined telemarketer to quickly back down, even to the point of retreat, waving his white flag high in the air as he whimpered into submission. Instantaneously her voice slipped into a gleeful welcome as she recognized the familiar caller on the other end of that call.

I sit here, with the swishing sounds of the rinse cycle rhythmically chugging in the background, eyelids slowly closing out the glaring lights from this laptop, and momentarily hear that same sweet voice, excitedly inquiring how I am doing. Never did she care to talk a minute about herself, I was her gift for that space in time. I was all that mattered. She cared little to expose the pain she suffered, to relate the grief she still felt from losing her own mother so recently, to rant about how aggravating my father was. The only focus was allowing her an opportunity to see into the doors of your life, as if she, for an instant, could escape the perils of her world, and walk with you through your journey.

Rather suddenly, the images fade with the buzzing vibration of my pink Blackberry sitting so loyally nearby. All I'm left with, is the hopes that I can someday fill the void left behind.

Urgent men scramble around, a little girl stands there among them, matted brown hair plastered to her round face, pink PJ's, wet from the pee that had escaped her young bladder during the night, clings to her chubby body. Pink is her favorite color, at least that's what her mommy says. Inside she really likes purple.

No one pays attention to this little girl, but she's used to that. She's not even eight, but she takes care of her mommy, little brother and baby sister. She loves her mommy, hoping one day she'll be as pretty as her. She often wishes her brother would disappear. He's such a brat and he takes too much of mommy's time with all his whining and sickness. He gets sick just so mommy will love him more. Her sister is ok, just a baby.

Confused, dazed, shivering, bare feet scraping against the cold, rough cement sidewalk, on this brisk mid-September night. Siren whirling, lights flashing, blinding in the chaotic night. Glimpsing to the left, she catches sight of the man from night before, the one that saved them from angry Dave. He throws a blanket over his head, exposing his naked body. Feeling the warmth quickly fill her cheeks, she instantly looks away in embarrassment. But she must look again, the urge is too overwhelming.

"Where is she?" Not realizing that the damage is done, that it's too late, she scans the surroundings, watching the naked man try to fight through the bustle of men in uniforms; yelling, "SHE'S STILL IN THERE!!!" They pull him back, pull him down, down to the dew soaked grass. He's yelling and fighting, "SHE'S STILL IN THERE!!!" Stupid man. You can't fight the cops, they always win.

"Where is she?" More frantically she wonders. "MOMMY?" The moonlight cascades over the house, the house that is now engulfed with flames. The flames are mesmerizing, orange, yellow and red all fading into each other, dancing in the breeze, the breeze that is making her body shiver under the drenched clothing.

"Honey, let's go inside." The pleasant voice suddenly snaps her out of the trance, and instinctively she quickly shifts her gaze from the beauty of the fire, to the welcoming face of a strange woman. "Sweetie, come with me. We'll get you all cleaned up."

The little girl whispers, with fear lacing through her words, "Where's my mommy?"

As young as she was, she recognized a look of sadness in this pretty lady's face, a look that her long golden locks falling around her face couldn't hide. She answered her, after what seemed like eternity with a deliberate, vague answer, "Baby, the police are taking care of it."


Without ever being told, that little girl, that innocent little girl wandering along the cold, jagged sidewalk, knew her mommy was never coming home again. Just 20 days before her eighth birthday, she had received the last hug and kiss from the mommy she loved so much. In a whirlwind of events, she had been left all alone in a harsh bitter world.


Sitting here, more than 20 years later, that little girl is no longer innocent and alone. She sits here, the sound of Push Play in the background, reliving one of the most horrific, life changing tragedies that she had to endure. More than 20 years later, the wounds reopen in the recanting of this night, this night she had tried to hard to push into that cobweb covered corner of her mind.

I'm that scared little girl, realizing that I never did find a cobweb corner in my mind to place all the unpleasantries in my life. I always thought, if I don't think about it, it can't hurt me. I have unfortunately found that regardless of the fantasy world I construct, it is still there. I stumble upon it when I least expect it; like the times I feel like venturing outside my imaginary bubble to embark upon a new journey. That's when I bump into her,she's standing there, persistently waving at me, reminding me to never forget her. Such a beautiful woman, so much pain. Is that what people will say about me when I die? Will they say all the niceties, followed by the contrite "but"? "....But she was in so much pain, more than physical." "....But her soul was broken."

I refuse to let that be me; I refuse to keep my secrets hidden. You don't have to agree with me, you don't have to read one word of this. I'm not doing this for your personal enjoyment; I'm doing this as a tool to aid in my growth. My life is in my hands and it's time I took charge. She missed the milestone in my life, that last hug that night, before I fell asleep to the backdrop sounds of the drinking and partying,means more than a lifetime of recitals.