So as you may have seen on my BoF page, my father passed on May 27, 2023. My relationship with him was not an easy one. It was deeply complicated. It wasn't easy. Years ago, there came a point where there was no relationship. I had come to terms with many aspects of it years ago, but when he passed, I realized those terms were just that: terms.
When he died, those terms changed. I am grieving. To say I am sad is abstract. I wrote the following on Sunday. I shared it with my sisters, and now I will share it in our special quiet place on the internet. I doubt I will share it with the public.
I was once wounded.
It was a wound that was inflicted. A spider bit me.
It itched, it burned. It looked bad. It felt bad.
I was angry that this happened.
There was nothing I could do.
It’s what spiders do.
I had to figure out how to make the wound go away.
I had to make it better for me.
The wound was not getting better on its own.
I had to heal it.
The wound needed treatment.
So the care of it began.
I sought solutions.
Since I couldn’t change the infliction
and couldn’t make the wound go away.
I could heal it.
I found different salves. Healing began.
I did my best to stay away from spiders.
I didn’t want to be a spider. I wanted to be near butterflies.
I made sure to know the difference.
And then, tried to live the difference.
As a result, the pain, the itch, and the burning started going away.
The wound finally became a scab.
The scab was well on its way to becoming a scar
but the scab was still there.
I’d acknowledged a long time ago that the scar
was to be a reminder of the wound.
I begrudgingly welcomed it. It was never deserved or wanted.
Spiders are everywhere.
So are butterflies.
The infliction has left this mortal earth.
Its departure caused me to stumble
As a result, the scab fell off of me.
It was too soon.
My wound has a setback.
It still will heal. A scab will come back.
The wound isn’t what it was.
I have pain.
I have a little burning.
I don’t itch.
I am annoyed.
I’m less angry than when the wound happened.
I’m better at this than I was then.
It will always be infliction that caused the wound.
Infliction left, but I will get that scar
because I have butterflies.
To become a butterfly, it has to change… I did too.
I don’t have to forgive that damn spider. Spiders go into the dark.
I wasn’t born to be a Butterfly and I didn't go into the dark.
I learned that I could change to be better. The spider never did.
I could be a butterfly. With a scar, eventually.
(Thus ends my freeform jazz prose)