Dec 2014
I never thought the hyphen in my last name would indicate divorce,
A severing of my 50/50 blood ties to each of my parents by one tiny horizontal line in between two names.
I never thought that my father Samuel, a biblical name, could not muster even the strength of God to save a marriage,
Nor did I cross my mind that finding myself on my knees meant I was back to a church and a God, somehow shouting to the man that knows love best about how I wanted a love to be saved and it wasn't even my own.
Or that at age 19, the dwindling and sliver-like love of my parents would hurt as much as it does because I've seen fires die out and walls crumble; this doesn't look too different if you ask me.
Samuel, my father-
A man that is not of the father above,
Please solely summon his strength to save the love you are dangling by a thread to a life that if tugged at too hard, could unravel in your cold hands. Your one dream to have a family is going to crumble if you don't rightly love the woman that gave you one in the first place.
And to my mother-
Broken, tired and blue,
Give him the patience your God taught you to have just one more time. Give him the chance to change because I've seen the rain turn to sun and weariness turn to dust when you realize what is at stake. The small steps become the journey and if you only look at how far you have to go, you'll never make it.
I know 20 plus years grows tiresome on the heart and ******* the mind, but when I turn 20 I don't want to have to decide who I will celebrate with, or ask if you two are seeing anyone new. I don't want to see mom in the city and dad alone. I don't want to see my house divided up and I don't want to lose my home.
I know you both came from broke families that bruised your hearts in ways I can't fathom, and have seen the ins and outs of separate homes and step siblings and changes that come too often. I know you two stuck your last names together as a promise to stick together so that my brothers and I didn't have to know two home phone numbers, two addresses and two house keys.
When I was 7 the teacher asked if you two were divorced, and my toothy smile told her no.
I want the toothy smile of my own children to, when questioned about the endurance of love, say no to the notion that it can die out
Because grandma and grandpa were together until they had to go home to the man above.
This isn't about my father's faith or my mother's dwindling faith in him;
This is about how I went back to a God because I'm praying that my parents can find a way to let love back in.
A severing of my 50/50 blood ties to each of my parents by one tiny horizontal line in between two names.
I never thought that my father Samuel, a biblical name, could not muster even the strength of God to save a marriage,
Nor did I cross my mind that finding myself on my knees meant I was back to a church and a God, somehow shouting to the man that knows love best about how I wanted a love to be saved and it wasn't even my own.
Or that at age 19, the dwindling and sliver-like love of my parents would hurt as much as it does because I've seen fires die out and walls crumble; this doesn't look too different if you ask me.
Samuel, my father-
A man that is not of the father above,
Please solely summon his strength to save the love you are dangling by a thread to a life that if tugged at too hard, could unravel in your cold hands. Your one dream to have a family is going to crumble if you don't rightly love the woman that gave you one in the first place.
And to my mother-
Broken, tired and blue,
Give him the patience your God taught you to have just one more time. Give him the chance to change because I've seen the rain turn to sun and weariness turn to dust when you realize what is at stake. The small steps become the journey and if you only look at how far you have to go, you'll never make it.
I know 20 plus years grows tiresome on the heart and ******* the mind, but when I turn 20 I don't want to have to decide who I will celebrate with, or ask if you two are seeing anyone new. I don't want to see mom in the city and dad alone. I don't want to see my house divided up and I don't want to lose my home.
I know you both came from broke families that bruised your hearts in ways I can't fathom, and have seen the ins and outs of separate homes and step siblings and changes that come too often. I know you two stuck your last names together as a promise to stick together so that my brothers and I didn't have to know two home phone numbers, two addresses and two house keys.
When I was 7 the teacher asked if you two were divorced, and my toothy smile told her no.
I want the toothy smile of my own children to, when questioned about the endurance of love, say no to the notion that it can die out
Because grandma and grandpa were together until they had to go home to the man above.
This isn't about my father's faith or my mother's dwindling faith in him;
This is about how I went back to a God because I'm praying that my parents can find a way to let love back in.
I plan on moving out by next fall and I don't plan on returning home for any extensive amount of time. A big push to leave is my parents. They're unhappy and in turn, it makes me unhappy. I hate watching them pretend they're okay for myself and my brothers' sake. We're all old enough to know that they stuck it out for us and my mom especially knows that once we are all out of the house, there isn't much left for her. And I used to think I wanted them to separate, so that they could be happier. I hold love to such a high regard that even if to a fault, I believe my parents can salvage what's left and be happy together. My heart is hurting a lot considering that in the next few years I will split holidays between them, between apartments and between cities. I don't know what can be done or if the steps will even be taken, but I very genuinely pray that my parents try to figure it out because it'll break my heart to watch their marriage fall apart.
