Blood Strangers

She didn’t create the situation, nor did she coerce it, or suggest it. The owner of this relationship appendage did all of that and now she wonders if any good can come from it. She’s known for years that nothing about the failure or damage was good. She has struggled to help mend the fences and nail them back together, albeit hearts and minds are not robust like standing-tall wooden fences; but often fragile and barren of strength.

His social inadequacies can be blamed for a lot of the distance; bad decisions for the rest. He tried in spits and sputters, but real life requires more effort.  His children seemed to eventually accept that of him, but how does a father not need to see his children, talk to his children, or not need to KNOW about his children; their lives, their heartaches, their failures and successes?  She is sure the love has always been there, but it’s a time of show and tell and he must find a way to make it be felt.

He suggests a peace offering; a place to live. He is sharing all that he has in this world trying to make amends and resurrect a life he let slide away. He’s nervous, uncomfortable, and he’s worried.  Worried it will not work, that it will not last, and that it will not be enough.

The time warp memories of a stagnant, full of stale-smelling cigarettes home, is the adult-child’s version of the first vision of this olive branch. He too is nervous, scared and worried it will not work. He has spent half of his life without this man, this man who now so desperately needs to achieve what he struggled to be so long ago. Their words are sparse as they strain to command memories into quantitative meaning; because clearly, the quality is absent.

The man is not there much, so the house, his home, his offering, is just as desolate as their relationship and bleak conversations. It is his home and yet he appears to be just as lost in the surroundings as his guest. He stumbles with words of explanation as he gives the ten cent tour, when clearly even as a guide and the master of his domain, he is still not the confident owner of his thoughts and emotions.

He has put his hand forth as an offering to grab ahold and pull his adult-child upward. It’s unknown how much trust is required to take that hand and be led to safety. It’s unknown how much healing must be processed before either feels like they really belong to the other, or if and when all that has been done, if the word Dad will ever feel as natural as it should when being spoken.  They are both lost souls trying to find their way through present life and back to each other.

I’m sure this story is far too familiar for so many; never give up hope for new beginnings or positive reconnections.  Just move forward, and believe.