My childhood comes in fond waves of recollection.

The holiday seasons of Thanksgiving and Christmas were always my favorite times of the year. Times in which familial bonds felt their strongest. It was so easy and wonderful to be swept up in the whimsical magic of the holidays. Little problems or concerns are forgotten for the sake of repeating another year of well-constructed joy.

I would shiver with glee as we unpacked our three-foot-tall artificial spruce, set it on a stack of boxes covered with sheets, and decorated it with care. Proudly displayed in the window of our single wide trailer. Every night before bed I'd stare at it admiringly.

It ******* glistened.

My mother and I would piece together a jigsaw puzzle on a card table set up in our living room while watching Christmas movies on TV. It was humble, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I recall being upset one year when my father (correctly) guessed that I bought him a Buck Knife for his Christmas gift. He then made a comment suggesting that he didn't need another knife. It crushed me because I thought it was the perfect gift for a man I tried so hard to relate to.

Most of my childhood memories are filled with joy.

Pretending my G.I. Joes inhabited the branches of our softly lit tree. The elf and angel ornaments were either friend or foe and offered either shelter or a diabolical plot of destruction. The angel atop the tree (from my mother's first marriage in the '70s) was the queen that all the other ornaments and soldiers bowed down before.

She was a goddess.

These days I can't help but be brutally honest with myself and acknowledge that the connection to my biological family is barely existent.

There are no jigsaw puzzles.
No Buck Knives.
No glistening lights.
No tree.

Just me alone in an apartment with a glass of whiskey.

There was a time when I carried on the gleeful tradition of the holidays. With my own three children by my side, I carefully placed that angel from the '70s atop the tree.

I think they were as enamored by her as I once was. I could see the innocent thrill in their eyes.

I haven't looked into their eyes for over a year.

The naive childhood excitement of the holiday season is a distant memory. Now, these days on the calendar remind me of things I will never experience again. They gently, but painfully enter like a dagger between my ribs.

The wound is reopened every ******* year.

I look around and see happy little families shopping for holiday meals and gifts as I push my humble cart around the grocery store alone. I imagine them with a crackling fireplace in their living room like I once had; decorating the tree and listening to holiday tunes. Dancing and giggling.

I can't help but wonder if my children are placing that angel atop the tree with their new dad.

The angel their grandmother passed along.

Her broken marriage.
My broken marriage.

And still, that cardboard angel sits atop the tree spreading joy.

She's a goddess.

I always wake during the strangest of hours. Time is supposed to be a foundation—something in which to measure and organize our existence. For me, it slips through the fingers of an outstretched hand and dissipates into vapor. There is no comfort in its passing, only a fleeting shadow of an old friend. I recently drove through the worst fog imaginable; every moment was a struggle to remain between the worn-out lines. I squinted even harder and my singular headlight tried its best to help illuminate a path. Its efforts were valiant, yet meager. This is how it is for me now. This is how the days flicker by; in fog, in a haze, no true distinction from one to the next. I squint. It is in vain.

3:00am. I abruptly sit up and my eyes dart around the room that has become mine for but a little while. My conscious mind is still unscrambling data—separating dream from reality from memory. It all comes into focus and my chest heaves as I remember that my children are 539 miles away. They are in their own temporary rooms. My fingers touch the place on my bed where my son recently lay and told me how much he loved me during our last night together before the Five Week Separation. I cognitively continue to process the situation while simultaneously repressing it into deeper and more distant caverns.

My feet touch the floor and I find something to eat. I watch a movie to distract myself, but only feel all the more hollow. I shake my body into movement. I dress myself and head outside. An introspective playlist accompanies me as I walk along the Rock River. I drink in the breaking morning light until I become intoxicated by the sheer beauty of every single moment: the couple walking quickly by; the glow from a nearby kitchen window; the fishy smell of river water. This is the town of my youth, and in a few short weeks, I am leaving it far behind—yet again.

I walk the familiar streets and enter a café that is filled with countless memories of old friends, love, and laughter. The tables are now bare and the chairs empty, but I can still see the ghosts of memories projected throughout the room. The owner asks me how I am doing and how many kids I have now. I respond in as few words as necessary without being crass. I pay for my latte and scone, then turn away and wonder if I will ever buy coffee here again as the door’s abrasive dinging announces my exit. I slip my headphones back on and turn the volume down on the world around me. Everything seems more cinematic when I am orchestrating the score. Cars rush by and my scarf flutters in the breeze as a violin crescendos and a banjo jangles.

I trek back to the place of transient residence. Enough self-reflection for today. It’s time for some productivity. Everything is so very different now. Strange and painful, yet beautiful and mysterious. I am still me. My children are still my children. I think of them as I breathe in the damp morning air and slowly look around one more time, trying to record every detail in my memory. Everything is calm. I exhale deeply. As the breath escapes from my mouth it leaves a vapor that dances upward and disappears in a second. In that moment, time seems tangible again.

What does your daddy do?
He got rid of his working shoes
When he does not snooze
He listens to old tunes
While his tea brews
He reads the news
He likes to cruise and take in the views
My daddy is cool.

What about your mommy?
She's busy, busy making money
Take a break honey, says daddy.
I'm still young, she gets cocky.
Give her a ***, she'll make a curry
Ask her for a penny, she'll buy you a pony
Witty, sassy, finicky, pretty and many
More to add to her personality.
Let me end her story
Before you say I love her more than daddy.

there's a storm brewing
warning's gone out
cold coming through,
iced up veins
crumbling about

winter's bone
chilled, dried and cracked
broken shelter
no one's back

empty baggage
old and decayed
cradled leaves, robbed
from the grave

will you answer
when no one's home
the bell that rings
sadness its toll

blame and circumstance
underlying routine
chivalry a dead man's
desire-less need

naked and open
spread and bare
winter's harsh winds
spare no fair
****** in the beginning
as cold begins to fall
whipping boy standing
little girl small

Standing at the bridge I saw a beautiful woman dressed in black gracefully walk
Past me- her energy locked me in... I knew with her was where I was meant to be.

Excuse me my lady, are you ok? Oh well, no- I must be on my way... my name is Diana and I’ve been sent away from my love starting today.
I’m so sorry to hear, you seem pretty upset- it wasn’t working? Not the right time quite yet?
I’m willing to share being we are both here... I am not *****. I wasn’t enough, he says he needs to continue seeking and looking for more. She said this with sharp hurt off the tongue mixed with the sweet sad tears on her cheeks that have now begun.

Oh honey, I don’t know where to start- I know it’s hard living and moving forward when in your chest is a broken heart.
You know, know what is the hardest? The hardest thing at all? Things were so good and now it is this where all I can do is recall, the pain of what all past love in my life ... How before him I found myself in relationships full of pain and strife. You know, he is a good man which makes this harder, so desperately I wanted to be able to make this go farther.

I didn’t know if there was something I should say, her sharing was resonating and stirring things in me in a very prominent way. I stood observing what was happening at my core, a sense of empathy waves thru me like never before.

I feel you, deeply... in this moment I truly do. I feel and understand why you are so blue. Love can be hard, especially when it goes south- you just have to remember forever just isn’t always in the cards.

She nodded softly while letting the tears flow.... i wasn’t ready to let this one go. You wouldn’t know it with the way I acted before- fully aware my actions before surrendering to the fear in my heart led me through to this door.

What do you mean? I couldn’t help but respond... she sighed picked up her bag and said walk with me- it’s time i start moving along.

We walked together along the cobble stone path, sharing with me this journey from the state of the past. You see, this man I cry about to you, not very long ago at all he was nothing like this today. He adored me and wanted to give his undivided love. But from my conditioning and fear- I listened to a nasty entity from above. The rebellious **** of fear, who pushes away all the things that are dear and warm and full of light... i know you know, I pushed him away with all my might.

Her comment of knowing confused me a bit, but I didn’t want to disrupt her outpour of what was now an emotional fit.

So I pushed and walked away- didn’t take long at all to realize that where I wanted to be was this place we connected today. He took me in and oh I was filled with joy. So blessed I am! How blessed I am to be in love with this boy! So we danced, we loved, and the free fall felt so good... that was until I learned he learned some things during that time he thought that I should.

He no longer adores me the way that I knew... he was opening his doors to any connection that grew.

I stood feeling her pain- feelings of pain rippled my body... why did I feel her so deeply?

She looked me in the eyes and said “I tried to make it work, but I couldn’t let him keep me”. She dropped to the ground her items scattering and sobbed for a while- I stood crying too and then put her belongings into a pile.

True love never goes away, and maybe you’ll get back together some other day. I said this not sure if it was the right thing to do... she laughed lightly a little bit and said “oh my love, that’s very sweet of you. I don’t know if i will ever look back.. the site of all of this and him just instantly makes my heart crack. You know what is the hardest part of all? She shook her head and said, I’m standing here today on my own call. He didn’t make me leave, he wanted to love me how he can.

But my love, it’s not the kind of love you want and need right now from a man. With hearing this truth, she settled in defeat. Walking closer said I knew you would get it, after all... you are me.

Taken a back I said do you care to explain? For the first time a true laughter came out “you don’t recognize this terrain? Oh My darling, hmm okay, how do I start. So I am simply a reflection of you and your heart. We are here today to help you be okay with saying it’s time to part.

What the hell? What do you mean... why do you think you have felt a whole knew level of empathy? I stood knees locked, trying to figure this out- i then had the emotions come up and connected the pieces of what it was all about.

Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the saddest girl of them all? She said sweet but with a bit of a salty undertone. With this clarity a rush of resentment had quickly grown. So you mean your tale is really mine... my gorgeous gal, I’ve been sent here from the divine.

You needed to see and you wouldn’t get out of the way- since you’re so very loved I was sent here today. You needed to see the scene from an outsiders view...my love, my beautiful love... this situation isn’t for you.

You can keep trying to bend and fit into this mold- but bending until you break isn’t making you bold. It’s taking you away from all the things that are in your heart. I know it hurts that you just let him in and were ready to start. But you had to learn some lessons here, sadly the hard way... but we will start healing together. Right now. Today.

I stood shocked, how could this be? The person I’ve been helping was a direct reflection of me. I began to cry lettingthe pain I was holding in go- now we were here I just let it flow.

I just fell in love, the first time in years really let my heart open up. Ah yes but not soon enough- you started the journey with a half full cup. Once it was full, you were ready to love- but he moved on following his own messages from up above. Lesson to be learned darling, when you find true good love you must seize it while it is here... recognize and bask in moment of life with someone you hold dear.

There will be more I can assure... and i will also tell you this next part of the journey will not always feel nice. But we all have hurt from love- we all pay the price.

But I didn’t have to. This was a new love that was so different from the rest... he was- even in all of this, he is still the best.
I know darling, remember, I am you... but you can’t stay in something that is consistently making you blue. But can’t I change and grow just like he? Perhaps, and we can try... but what if that’s not the way you are suppose to be?

You are relentlessly loyal... you love hard and deep. You still need to experience in the life time a partner where your in a healthy smitten love you can keep. You haven’t had that, and trust me- it’s beautiful and something you deserve. It’s going to be okay, on this path this is just another curve.

I want to go back. Let’s turn around right now. Now now now let’s not be silly let’s not have a cow. I want to go back! I shouted she stood back in awe, sigh, we did that once already- don’t you recall? Do you see how going back lead us here today? Another lesson to put in your bag... you can’t always have your way.

Now come on. We have more things to do and see. Why did that evil entity have to do this to me?

Because you are human and weakened yourself with doubt, junk, and fear- I don’t mean to be so blunt with you, but you need to hear all of this my dear. You let yourself stop loving your self as much as I know you do at the core- so reverting to old habits reverts you to scenarios you have lived out before.

So now come, we have new healthy things to create in our lives. Starting with dealing with how to put all of this behind.

I stood there in awe of the roles had reversed- the women now walking ahead, i stood still and under my breath cursed.

This was the reflection of all that was going on within... and as much as i am resisting- it’s time for a new chapter to begin.

Walter chased me into my house. I owed him five dollars I did not have and I thought I would trick him by getting out of his car quickly and into my house. I was fifteen years old.

Walter was quick too and when I turned to close the door and lock it, he was there to force the door open. I ran up the stairs and down the hall and into my room and Walter was just behind me, stride for stride.

I turned around and he slapped me.

I was small then, for fifteen. He was big for seventeen. I thought about what happened all night. What I should have done and why I did nothing. Mostly, I was ashamed.

I decided from that day forward, if I had an ***-kicking coming, I’d take it nose-to-nose. Better that than be chased into a corner like a dog that just ****** the carpet.

I learned from the Smiley brothers too. They would call my mother fat, and she was, but so was their mother and I’d let them know it right back. This always resulted in some fake pride and threats by the Brothers.

I came to understand that the weak take it, they don’t give it, and that I was The Weak. The Smiley Brothers knew it, Walter knew it, I knew it.

Time passed and I kept growing, bigger than the Smiley’s. Bigger than Walter.

I ran into Walter years later, as adults. He had the kind of defeated look that I assume a plantation owner would have after having done business as equals with a former slave.

But, I harbor no ill-will. I thank Walter and I carry our past with me today.
When I’m going to confront another man, Walter walks in the room, not me. When I make love, my amorous and mischievous sister is the lover.

Yes, she’s there, pushing my lovers, the way she pushed me, curious to find out what she can get them to do next. Oh, how good it is to be in control, to be the one with the whip, to be deliberate.

Like hyenas roaming the African plains, I too have come to understand leverage. But, I’d rather be the elephant than the lion. I consider myself fortunate.

After all, I’m a big guy that knows what it’s like to be small. I’ve been the tether ball and the pole. I’m gentle with my bigness and I’m good at feigning hurt for those that need to believe they have that power.

And as my path narrows, I find myself thanking Walter for the slap, thanking the Smiley Brothers for teaching me what’s worthy of a fight, and loving my sister. Above all.

So I scuttled up, until I found a voice like Japan, I read him his rights, turned out the lights, and laid right back on the sand. They said, "Sir, he was much of a father to me, but we were labeled his kin, right in our family tree." "Oh wow", I said, with a gentle, smooth voice, he went missing last August, but now he wants back you boys?" "Oh yes, he sure is a feral man. We think that's why he dried up and flew to Japan." Right then, the two of them went silent just like two second story men, so I inquired, "What happened then?" "From Monday thru Sunday he took to prayer from the bible, and on every other weeknight he watched Japan's Top Model. He threw gallant parties to a harem of wives, he read each of their palms, and looked in their eyes; some time later, when everyone was about to leave, he'd turn on Happy End and start a wild ****." By this time I was tired, the sun began to set, I grew tired of my beach patch and yearned for my bed. Although soporific, I tried to be polite, I said, "Let's finish this conversation some other time." "Of course!", they said, "We're off to bed. We'll see that you'll do the same." Then they stood up quick, and reached down and picked up my chains. The beach we laid on was black top, asphalt and tar, the bed I craved was behind a row of private bars. The two of them, them both, were children of mine, because my memory is shot, this might've been their millionth time. i got locked up in a county that's dry as a beach, like Elizabethtown, Kentucky, where I was raised till 13. No one, not even the warden, knows really why I'm here, even some man from Cell Block Five, asked me last Sunday, why was I here. My beach perhaps, it's love at last, concrete, gravel, and stone- a 6' x 10' room with bars and a porcelain throne. It's mine I cry, each night I die, with glee, with smile, with rite. But it makes the other guys run at me, and try to start random fights. I don't remember the boat I took, but I remember the tour, going to Japan at Epcot Center since I'd never gone before.