dark the liner underneath her emerald green eyes sorted whispers exchanged in a smoke-filled hollow cloaked in sadness, she journeys to the bar that floats in the air walls of black notes isolate reality in a bluesy canvas money cannot buy her escape, not this earthy evening stirring within her nose, the sting of hospital air still tarries dressing to be gazed upon, she appears like a tightly wrapped blue-red butterfly, as silk embraces her youthful body smells of musk and vanilla linger on skin that melts bitterly shadows of memories claw at her like piercing intruders muscular is the jaw of the man who lingers close, uncommitted approaching boldly, she licks her bare lips, sitting halfway on a stool exposing too much of her young firm thighs he orders her a drink, nodding yes, she sees her father’s cold skin sterile his room, where she said her goodbyes, so lost since the war her father, the striking soldier, overwhelming sorrow singing by his grave after the soldiers fired their three volleys, with their M4s, in the hot, unforgiving Carolina sun drinking is what he would have done, so why not tonight lost in a world of alcohol, numbing pain, liquid valor half-smiles mimic the moon, but tears drip like acid on her face he chose to die; the earth claims his body, but God took his soul trying to calm her, this stranger now, wiping tears gently downing the drink, she loses herself in music and dance, twenty-something, and already fatherless
(Reading time 1 minute and 17 seconds)
I am writing this personal account of what it was like for me, when my father died. He joined the military because he had no other way to eat after being abandoned by his father. Very poor, his mother had no way to feed him. I was told he lied about his age and joined the army at a very early age and served in the Korean War. He became an alcoholic and was never the same. I believe, because of his abandonment issues, horrible experiences in the war, and untreatable painful illness, he chose to kill himself. My mother followed him two years later with her suicide.
I forgive both my parents and am grateful they taught me about God and Jesus. I believe they are both in heaven and that I will see them again. I miss them. I am not writing about this because I want anyone to feel sorry for me; in fact, please don’t. I feel bad for them as they had horrible childhoods too. It is essential for children growing up in an alcoholic and abusive life to know that there are lots of ways of getting help today. There was a tremendous amount of abuse in my life growing up. You can become strong through support and not repeat the cycle. You can visualize yourself as a warrior and not a victim. Although very young children are helpless and are, therefore, always victims.
During this time of isolation, it is imperative for families with children or just husbands and wives who may drink or use drugs to be aware of the potential for increased violence and abuse. Domestic abuse is up due to issues of money, illness, and isolation because of COVID-19. If you are currently in an abusive situation, please seek help. Love to all my beautiful friends on WordPress and Twitter. God Bless every one of you. Thank you all for supporting me and allowing me to be part of your lives.