Was organizing some files on my computer and came across this old poem I wrote a few years ago. This is for my family: Mom & Dad, Sheryl & Keith, Mitch, Brook, Andrew and Katelyn.
There is one light on in the house
Above my piano.
Songs of loss
I no longer held the keys
To all the doors I had slammed
Or the pieces of my story
That I had ripped apart.
This is not the way that things are supposed to be,
But this is the way things are.
And we cannot start from the place we wish to be;
We can only start from here.
So if you find yourself a stranger, drive home.
Believe your family when they say they love you.
Be in the stillness, and the trees will show you
That you are not weak for letting go.
Let your sister look at you like you are brave
Because you are.
Even after the tragedies you caused,
You are a hero for showing up to try again.
Listen. Do not be ashamed when your branches are barren.
For your name is written somewhere deep in the rings;
Known only by the one who wrote it there.
Look at the photographs.
All the versions of yourself that were loved for nothing more than simply existing.
You are not a disappointment
Or a mistake, or a waste
Even though your colors have fallen.
As the ground hardens, as the trees are fruitless, remember.
The leaves will travel far,
But your roots will always be planted here.