to ask my family members
to tell the whole story
to tell more
of my childhood
more of what happened
within those walls
but what cause have I
to believe
they would be any more likely
to share them with me now
than ever before
the heaviness of
un-told stories
mine and
not mine
kept me separate
from that family
isolated from
a history
that could have been mine
held from me
as if to prove
the power they held
over my own
identity
some stories
left hints along the way
the story of my father
deciding to not drink
before he even met my mother
hinted but not told
that it somehow involved a wedding
the story of
all the ways
my mother could have
helped her sisters
the reasons why she didn’t
never told
the story of my sister
a teen adopting a child
to others
was held from me
for years
the story of my fall
down the steps
to a broken collar bone
innocent accident
until my brother revealed
he pushed me
I wonder now
if they tell the story
of my sister
wedding her first cousin
or did the story die
when they divorced?
I wonder now
if there was more to
my own story
what may have happened
before my remembering
a twin lost?
a brush with death?
a failure to terminate?
a terrible sickness?
or, perhaps
my heart is merely
alien to this way of being
but in the wondering
a new thought
arrives
the power has shifted
I claim my stories
they are mine
gaping holes
frozen mysteries
and all
those who held
the stories from me
who commandeered
my birthright
who stole the very
essence of my beginnings
remain separate
always apart
always on the
other side
and I
take on
the creation
of my own story
pour love
into all the
wounds
navigate the scars
and gently
hold space
in the hollowness
of not knowing
for light to grow
What is my story, if I never claim it?
Your gift was from your Maternal Grandmother who hid it in the face of Catholicism. Your mother also carries a gift which was revealed as in mine when both spoke in tongues. You are an island because of your blatant nature of truth and discovery that the 1400’s Witches were burned at the stake for. Your gift is to rely messaged and truth in a time that is finally beginning to be accepted as your Anne will also do before she returns home. You need to revel in your poetic writing of honesty and self awareness knowing that you are the master of your life and with that comes great freedom and love. Your hardships are a reflection of a character that God has given to you so that you may make a mark on the rest of us who are searching.
With love and light.
Always, Victoria
This is so, so beautiful. It touches parts of me I don’t often think about. Thank you for sharing your story. <3
Teresa…there’s so much heart in this. I hear you — deeply. Your story and wondering resonate in my bones. {{Bowing}} to you, wise woman.
Beautiful. “I claim my stories, they are mine” I can very much relate right now.
This is beautiful Teresa. Brave words for reclaiming your Story and for refusing to let the gaps define you. Your story is yours for the telling and no one else. Even if it has the potential to hurt someone’s feelings. All is well.