Wednesday, March 24, 2010

One Hundred Million Years Later




Fathers often leave children behind. It's not extraordinary. Mine had good reasons to miss pasty fathers day cards and going to horrible, ear piercing talent shows.

*He drank a lot.
*He loved us too much.
*People he loved left him, so it was easier for him to leave people he loved.
*Oh, and it was cold here. So cold. My father has sunshine in his bones.

I'm sure it was horrible. I'm sure his own crazies told him to gogogogogogogogogoggo before the love inside him blew him up into a million pieces. It must have felt like cement in his ventricles.

And in reality? I liked that he was gone. I had my beautiful mother all to myself. I took good care of her. Better than he ever did. He made her cry. I made her laugh. Simple math.

But sometimes when I watch my little girls sleep on the broad surface of my husband's chest, their growing arms lanky like willow limbs draped across... I want to scream. And get in my car. And drive far away fast.

Just like him.

29 comments:

  1. Wow. So haunting, and yet so beautifully and powerfully written.

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  2. Very powerful Suzy. Hard to supress that urge to run.

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  3. Definitely powerful. I think the urge to run is in all of us. It's the will to stay that we have to work at.

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  4. Unbelievable. I love your writing.

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  5. Suzy, this IS powerful. I think we've all been there. For me, staying has been worth the reward to see my children grow. They are amazing.

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  6. very intense and entirely unexpected --

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  7. I agree with the "wows". A beautiful and moving piece of writing.

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  8. God, you write honest. You're amazing, Suzanne

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  9. Another Wow! - (actually that is my response to most of your writing.) :-)
    Yes, Powerful and moving - also so very beautiful.

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  10. This is quite piercing. I feel the words you're saying. It was honestly beautiful.

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  11. The pains of the past turn us into the strong, nurturing, empathetic women we are today.

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  12. I have to echo everyone else, Suzanne. Wow. But more than wow, I get the feeling. For years, whenever I saw intact families that seemed loving, my heart hurt. Your girls are very lucky to have both you and their dad. Old hurts don't really leave us, the pain just dims with time.
    karen

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  13. I read your pain, you expressed it well. Not all intact families were happy on the inside...I know.

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  14. I love the raw honesty of this - it makes people want to share their own stories, or at least feel more at home with them. Having children of our own is so complicated!

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  15. Lovely to see you're back. And your piece about your granny and purple toenails was lovely too.

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  16. "But sometimes when I watch my little girls sleep on the broad surface of my husband's chest, "

    Oh I remember this!

    But not with my Dad, cos even though he didn't drive away, he wasn't there either. He was just a physical presence.

    But I've seen this with my girls and my husband, and, without fail each time, envied those girls and realised they had no idea of how lucky they are.

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  17. Lovely and heartbreaking, and it strikes a chord with experiences in my own family.

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  18. I feel you! What a great voice you have girl! COngrats on working with an agent. I hope to get full report soon!

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  19. Hi!
    Just stopping by to tell you there is an award for you at my blog.
    You deserve it!

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  20. Wow, god I love this. Pure, honest, intense, like a punch to the throat.

    After slogging through blog after blog of tepid, rambling prose, this is a gift. Thank you.

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  21. To understand and embrace the source of your childhood pain with such empathy... I'm out of words, and I need to go get a tissue.

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  22. Wow! Are you going to drive and get him? Are you going to smack him a good one? Or are you running away from so much beauty and happiness it hurts? Just curious.
    But love that image of your baby being loved, held, just able to hold onto someone that loves her.
    Beautiful!

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  23. What a powerful post.

    Our parents imprint their failings upon us. I don't know if it's genetic or from observation, but it's something we must fight against so we can be better. We owe it to the next generation.

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  24. Beautifully expressed. I love how you spiral in your telling, up to an elevated view, down into the core. Lovely.

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