Guilt and Blame have no place, in the book of survival.
We rarely stayed in one house very long. The house I was born in was lost to back taxes and from that point on we were constantly on the move. Another neighborhood, another house, another set of issues to deal with. I was ten years old when my family was reunited. My grandmother had bought us a house, the first house I would call home. Six years in one place, despite the problems at home, I was now able to place roots. Making friends and finally having a degree of stability, as for the first time I was in same school for more then one year.
This place that I called home, held both good and scary memories. It recently burnt to the ground and with that came a barrage of unwelcome thoughts. In one perspective, it was closure, the house of hell burnt to the ground, and another part of me felt a loss of connection. As if that
part of life now had the door slammed shut. I looked on as the flames filled the sky. I felt numb and a chill shook from within. It was as if this final farewell, lit a chapter of the book of life into uncontrollable flames.
The four of us girls started out in one room of the attic. A smile came over me as I visioned us girls andthe sweet memories of my sisters singing and lulling to sleep beyond the fears of the day. With little resources, we were instilled with a love for lyrics and music. I could almost hear the second oldest singing, they called the wind.........and then quickly my head bounced around as thoughts of the screams in the night, the breaking of glass, the sound of police car sirens, replaced the beauty of her voice.
``
Conclusively paradise is not something you create,
or buy, nor is it a place you can travel to find.
Inside each of us is a magical place unexplored, when
you knocked at the door of my heart and I answered
I found home..... I love you and welcome home.
6 comments:
sad but love story by the way you ended it: "Home is when you knocked at the door of my heart
and I answered."
as the years go by, we learn that home is not made on wood or rocks... is made of flash..
thanks for the visit*
Hi,
The only meldious voice is the voice of a child...
all love
chandra
chandrasart.blogspot.com
Hi! Although I came from a very large (11) family,,we never encountered abuse,,,,unless you ate my mother's cooking! We had many hungry nights,,,living in cold flats without proper heat, going to school without proper clothes,,but still we had each other,,,and there was no physicl abuse...
Probably emotional abuse, that I will admit.
I'm happy you are writing about it,,this is a way of purging yourself, and letting everyone know that this goes on more often than we think.
We don't know what goes on behind closed doors. Children learn to hide it well....they learn to protect their abusers.
I look forward to your posts.
I got touched by this blog.
Greetings from Ecuador.
so touchy so sensitive!
I wanted to thank everyone for stopping by and reading the blog and for getting a reality check that we are not alone in both sides of the fence as victims of
violence and as educators, who dare to make a difference.
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