October Artsy Essay

Judith Heartsong's October Artsy Essay contest has begun. This month she asks the entrants to write about the following, "The one thing I would most like you to know about me..." This is my entry.

I am a sad little sprite buried deep inside the body of a grown woman. I did not ask to reside within her, nor did she invite me. Circumstances dictated it. It has been a little over three-and-a-half years that this has been my home. We have a tentative relationship. Although most of the time she prefers not to acknowledge my presence, she is not angry at all that this is where I dwell. There are times she will embrace me and listen to what I have to say. She wants me to open up and let flow my sorrowful feelings. It is then she will weep along with me. Other times she is cold to me. She deliberately ignores my soft voice begging for her to hold me and quell my feelings of helpless sadness. I know her intention is not to be cruel. I understand she is wearing a facade necessary for her own sake. She cannot always allow the people around her to know I still take up residence inside her. She is keenly aware that there are those who would snicker at her inability to be rid of me. They may even lecture her for not being tougher and having the spine to throw me out. So, she protects herself with her outward appearance of a smiling face. She thinks I will leave when I am able and not a moment sooner.

 

She takes good care of me and sees to it that I am well nourished, both physically and intellectually. She makes sure we go to nice places, enjoy the company of friends and family, and always have many activities in which to participate. She likes to laugh a great deal, and she appreciates the humor others have. She has a delightfully playful side to her that sometimes causes people to be taken aback by the bluntness of her humor. I find that on occasion she can make me forget my sorrow and pleasantly surprised that for that brief period of time I, too, am laughing. Those are the times I am deeply aware of how she tries to see to it that those around her are smiling and feeling happy.

 

She is a sensual creature, and finds that many people are, also. They just seem afraid to explore that side of themselves. She nudges them along with her candid remarks and topics of conversation. It does not take long before the previously reluctant folks begin to join in and share their sensuality. She is an insatiable learner. Her natural curiosity lends itself well with her desire to constantly learn. She will research anything unfamiliar to her and attempt anything possible. Like a small child, she is pleased when she has found the information she was seeking or is successful in completing a previously untried task.

 

I sit inside her and admire some of the things she does. She pushes herself to do the best she possibly can, never willing to settle for anything less than what she is capable of doing. She is a compassionate individual and can easily get caught up in the pain of others and tries valiantly to ease their suffering. Oh, but she can be strong and may ruffle some feathers in the process. She does not like when that occurs, but she knows that not all people have the best interest of others at heart. It is then that she will let the feathers fly. Self-preservation kicks in, and she will not surround herself with those who cannot appreciate all she has to offer. It pains her to have to show her strength that way, but it is the only way she knows how to stop the damage some may wish to inflict on her self-esteem. And heaven help anyone who dares to do wrong to her family! She is truly a tigress when it comes to them.

It is because of her family that she and I became acquainted. She had a childhood that in most ways resembled a fairy tale. Two parents who loved one another and three sisters. She was always the wild child in the family~a free spirit whose personality contrasted markedly with those of her sisters. Her parents' friends would laugh and call her a "pistol" or say that she was the "different" one of the four girls. They were right. She went through her childhood years blissfully going along her merry way. She knew her parents loved her fiercely, and she loved them just as intensely.

When she grew up, she married a fine man, and together they had a son and daughter. Those years were difficult for her in one way. Her husband loved her, but he seemed incapable of being nice to her. His kindness was expended on everyone but her. He was a superior parent and a subpar husband. For many years she pushed the hurt of his actions to the back of her mind and reveled in being a mother. She loved her husband, but she did not like the way he treated her. She had the love of her children, her sisters, her friends, and her parents. That was enough for her. She was particularly close to her parents. They were her best friends.

Her father was her stability, her rock, the source of unconditional love for her. Not a soul knew the sadness her marriage brought her. She did not want to tell anyone. No one guessed, either. They saw a woman happily immersed in the joy of raising children and being involved in their activities and school life. She glowed because of them. When those moments of self-doubt crept into her, it was her father who hoisted her confidence. He had an uncanny ability to say the right things at the right times. His love for her was evident in everything he did. He could keep her in line, too! He was the only person on the face of the earth who could come even close to understanding her. She felt so lucky and blessed to have the life she did, even with the strain of a marriage that was not how she had always envisioned a marriage should be.

Then tragedy befell her father. He almost lost his life when an aneurysm in his brain ruptured. He had the necessary surgery, but he was left severely disabled. Her heart was shattered and her life upended. This caused her to throw herself into helping care for him and helping him feel like he still had worth as a human being. She spent every possible moment she could each day with him. Fortunately, his personality remained much the same as before his illness. Unfortunately, he was not always able to communicate. It fluctuated, as did his health, on a constant basis. And so for almost six years, she hustled and bustled to tend to every need of her children and husband, never missing any of their functions but also sure not to miss her daily time with her father. A tiny miracle occurred then. Her husband began to change. The shock of what happened to her father seemed to shake him up, and he realized the treatment he had given her for years and years was ugly. He began to appreciate her value, and he grew kind toward her. More loving, more thoughtful. In the meantime, she ran herself ragged taking care of all that needed to be tended.

She found visiting the nursing home where her father lived became something of an oasis for her. Whether or not her father could speak did not matter. She had his hand to hold, his brow to soothe, and his presence to absorb. She talked a lot to him during most visits. She shared anything and everything to keep his mind alert. On those days when he could speak and was not further hindered by yet another new illness, his wickedly wonderful wit had her doubled over with laughter. There were the many days filled with poignant moments. Always hovering nearby was the frailty and uncertainty of his life. Countless times he faced death, and he managed to defy it.

It was on a Sunday when he took his final breath. The proud man who had endured such brutal indignities because of that aneurysm gave up his long-fought battle to remain here on earth. She lovingly and tenderly closed his lifeless eyes before leaving his room to get the nurses. It was at that very moment that I came to live inside of her.

I am here with her to assist her. She does not think she needs any help from me. She has a fabulous and adoring husband who lavishes his love on her, two of the most cherished and goodhearted children anyone could have, the sweetest loving mother, three sisters she is proud of and whose company she enjoys immensely, three brothers-in-law who are wonderful, many nieces and nephews who warm her heart, all of the good and decent relatives on her husband's side of the family, and her treasured friends. She cannot understand why I am present. If she genuinely wants to know, she will learn. I am here to replace that part of her that left when her father died. I am the grief she does not want to express. I am her reminder that she has unfinished business needing tended. I am here to make her cry and release her pain. I am here to tell her it is okay to feel. And I am here until she knows that she is strong enough to allow herself to be weak for however long it takes until that empty place fills in once again. I am here for her.