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the hand i used to hold…

when the knife went in my heart it was not the blade that tore it open – it was seeing your hand grasping the hilt…  it was the nonchalance of your words… the indifference in your demeanour… as though you forgot, child! Yours, was the hand i used to hold…

~M.Y.F.M

October 08, 2012

Context:

It was Thanksgiving Dinner, 2012; a tradition which is not normally celebrated where my people and I hail from, but randomly upheld in our family, in an effort to try and bring our motley and far-flung peeps together.  Because I made my life so ridiculously difficult for far too long, (see ‘TheTale of the Six Hair Dryers’ when it is done and up), seeing my one and only child for more meaningful interaction than what had become what I call ‘drive-by-huggings,’ was/is generally, my primary motivation for attending/putting on such a gig. This particular dinner was of great import to me. I had felt for some time, that my relationship with this, my favourite human, was devolving into something I was painfully uncomfortable with, and very, very sad about. So, when he came to this dinner at my mother’s home, and announced a few moments later that he would not be staying, with little explanation, I expressed my hurt and, really, more than anything, bewilderment, in the words above. Secretly, silently, at first… for I knew that something dire had occurred somewhere in his life to bring about this uncharacteristic behaviour, and that he would tell me when it felt safe for him to do so, but the hurt was acute, none-the-less, and I had to let it out, before it consumed me…