I’ve come from many places and ended up exactly where I’m supposed to be —Kim Sisto Robinson
I Come From Pure Love…
So much love that sometimes I think I shall burst in midair like one of those overblown birthday balloons. When my family gets together, the volume pumps up like a rock concert, heavy metal, Led Zeppelin, Joplin, well, you get the idea.
Picture it: oodles of opinioned Sicilians laughing, joking, and in deep conversation about politics, old movies, life, death, and religion. Also, imagine arms hurling and flapping in air like a dramatic scene from the Sopranos. ( Side note: I always thought Tony would change.) Anyhow, Italians talk with their hands just as much as their mouths. Watch out, or you’ll be struck in the face like poor Mable Osell who happened to be in my daddy’s way one morning at church while he was talking about something he was apparently & abundantly passionate about.
Oh, and did I mention that half of the idiots in my family, do I dare admit, voted for Trump? Don’t judge as I did. Let’s just say, the debates get exceptionally heated.
I Come From the Womb of a 16 Year Old Girl…
Who dropped out of high school to care for me. Not once did she imagine not having me. Not once did she not adore me. Not once. She told me she stayed up many late nights watching me sleep because she was terrified somebody would steal me.
Yes, I was that beautiful and valuable and amazing.
She told me my 18 year old father bought me a tooth brush when I was only three months old. Additionally, he brought home Crest toothpaste, a hair-brush, and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. I mean, they were babies having babies.
My mother was a stay-at-home mother, a cinnamon bun baker, a red lipstick purchaser, a firm hugger, a lip kisser, a get on your knees floor cleaner, an Avon perfume wearer, and the glue god for all of us. Still.
I Come From Books…
Life changing, waterlogged, shaded and highlighted books.
Fear of Flying by Erica Jong sat under my bed like a naughty girlfriend offering me cigarettes and beer.
“Heeeeeeeere, just try it. You may liiiike it.”
And Plath taught me that words could keep you alive for 30 long years. I am, I am, I am.
Oh, and let’s not forget Jonathan Livingston Seagull, please, who educated me about the power of metaphor. I was like, OHHHH, this is not a book about a bird searching for meaning, It’s about ME, Us, the Universe!”
Kafka said, “A book must be the ax for the frozen sea within us.”
Let’s just say; I still have much to be unfrozen.
I Come From God…
Whose voice I’ve heard several times thru words, books, dreams, visions, and the angels placed in my sometimes, directionless path— just as I was going to give up, drink myself to death, or step off a curb into oncoming traffic. I’ve come to realize that I’m only alive today because God is real, tangible, breathing, and held me during my darkest hours.
I Come From Domestic Violence…
But I didn’t know this until he killed her, shot her three times, changed our lives forever. I didn’t believe it until I saw my sister lying in an unsympathetic, hideous, white painted room, which smelled of mom’s sanitizer and death and darkness and horror. Two guards stood like sentinels at the front entrance and I remember thinking…“Aren’t you a bit too late?”
My sister had tubes flowing from her nostrils like translucent snakes, mascara was smeared on her cheeks, her newly highlighted hair was still tied up in a high pony tail, and the monitor was beep::beep::beeping like another fucking lie.
I just kind of went crazy. Until now.
I Come From Gratitude…
NOBODY, let me repeat, Nobody can heal, move forward, be happy, or live a fulfilled life without gratitude. Without it, one resides in darkness, shadows, fear, and hopelessness. That’s the whole shitty, stupid truth. I know because I lived, or should I say un-lived for two years in an abyss that I couldn’t appear to climb out of. Perhaps, this is what Hell is like.
After about 24 months, (side note: Mr. Liverpool just read this and told me it was more like 4 years ) a veil lifted from my soul. Literally. I felt the dark material rise up from my body like one of those velvet curtains before a Broadway Show. The sun glistened thru my picture glass window and I closed my eyes allowing the heat to saturate upon my skin.
“Where have you been?” I said aloud. “I’ve missed you.”
—How about you, darlings, where are you from?
#WhereAreYouFrom #Mourning #Family #WhereDoYouComeFrom