"Our parents are the primal source. We make our own lives, but our origin stories are theirs. They go back with us to the beginning of time"
- sugar
i could tell you many things about my parents.
i could tell you that they not so much left the nest as much as they were booted out
with a baby in a belly, a cardboard box filled with clothes and a mattress on the floor.
i could tell you that they struggled for years.
but they loved each other.
and that love was all that they needed.
i could tell you that they survived the loss of a child and many more hardships to come and they did it all with so much grace, gratitude and faith that it would make the heart of the hardest man turn to putty.
but that is not my story to tell.
perhaps all you really need to know about my parents is where they leave off and i begin.
now that is a story to tell.
and it just so happens to be my story to tell.
if i ever forgot that my parent's wanted the best for me, it was temporary.
and it was probably riddled with teenage angst.
those were the days that i fought to dissociate.
to break the origin.
but, as life would have it, one can never dissociate from their parents entirely.
they are point b.
and there are many times i raced to them seeking salvation.
and one time in particular...
the first time in my adulthood that someone carelessly toyed with my heart,
(actually, they ripped it out, stomped on it 50 times and then once more just to make sure it was no longer beating..but that is a different story entirely)
i arrived home and there was my mom, proud as could be about her christmas lights.
i had a lump the size of a mountain in my throat and i was unsure if i was going to scream or cry.
come! come see the lights!
and i did. i really only wanted to hurl over and forget it all.
but i looked at the lights and i said they looked real nice.
because she had worked so hard on them.
and, really, they did look nice.
moments later i was on the other side of my door.
and i was on the floor.
and there were tears. everywhere.
perhaps she heard me weeping or perhaps she just knew
moments later she was there on the other side of the door with me.
she knew better than to ask.
i couldn't respond.
not yet.
she held my hand till my breathing regained a somewhat normal rhythm and i told her what had happened.
i could not look at her because i was ashamed and felt like nothing short of an idiot.
and then i felt her tears hit me.
and she wrapped me in her arms and said
i'm sorry this happened to you.
and in that moment, i understood that this was equally hard for her.
she was heartbroken and so was i.
we were back at the origin and we were together.
the next morning i was on the floor on the tub and there were tears everywhere.
maybe he heard.
maybe he just knew.
but after i emerged, there was a letter on the cupboard that read
britt,
i love YOU.
he loved me.
someone else no longer did.
but he did.
and for the first time in 12 hours, i smiled.
this is the tale that outshines all other tales of their unwavering love.
the tale that pinpoints us both together, completely wrapped up in each others feelings
and completely unapologetic for it.
parents.
my parents,
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