Survivor

It is the most ordinary of things to survive our parents. Yet I find myself so unprepared to live the experience. Emotions appeared suddenly like squalls in the sky of my mind. Then just as suddenly, there was an equally disturbing stillness. Words fail to carry the true essence of it.

I had the perfect parents.  When I say perfect, I don't mean that my childhood was constant pleasure, or that we fully understood each other. They were perfect in the sense that there was balance. For example, I felt safe most of the time, but I was not in a fake bubble. There were times when I did not feel safe. But these happened in a larger context. I learned the important lesson that I would not always be safe, but there was an intention to provide safety. And there was space to get it right, and to get it wrong. And there was space for taking action, or taking none. And space for not knowing what to do.  And there was space for the waiting and the ripples of the after effects. And there could be love in all these spaces, even if I couldn't always sense it at the time. I am still learning that, really. But the root of all that is from my parents. So my parents were/are perfect, for me anyway. And I am grateful.

Photo Credit

Silhouette: The Swaddle