bonds
by fidgefractures
“Our hearts are full and our minds are good
Our ancestors come and give us strength
Stand tall, sing, dance and never forget who you are
or where you come from”
“It’s lonely for all of us. Really.”
Sitting on my bed I stared bleakly at my screen and tried to absorb the words into my soul. She was right, we lived not in the age of Wonder Years but in an age of wasted years, between generations that would never be rebuilt the way they should have been. I knew she was right … she was older, more refined, less ‘prickly’ than I was. Could she have the same feelings I held quiet for so long? Because we’re supposed to be dignified and proper with our emotions. Stoic I believe the term is called.
Well I had just about had enough of being stoic. I’d had enough of holding everything in and not saying a word when people lied to me since I was little. Even when they told me the damn truth I kept a distance from all of it. I didn’t want to know, I didn’t ask to know … I didn’t want the history and I certainly didn’t want their regrets, mistakes, and hidden horrors. I did’t want any of it.
The day still hits me right in the chest and I still try to catch my breath every time I hear his voice yelling at me.
“She had a grade two education, she was a drunk and she didn’t WANT you!”
Silence. I stared at him full of hate and anger he wasn’t even blood related to me.
Everything came tumbling down. So that was it! She had made a decision … or maybe someone else had made it for her. Slow, uneducated, and not wanting of her children she would soon give both me and my sister up for adoption. It was for the best in the long run. Maybe? Maybe she thought things would be alright for us, maybe we would have a chance. A better life without her. She wouldn’t know how much I miss her everyday. How much I wonder what she looks like, what she sounds like. If she would recognize the scent of her child like I immediately recognize the scent of my own. If she knew what it was like to run her fingers through a mass of chestnut hair and see a cheery face underneath it or if she knew what it was like to stay up all night after one of them threw up in their beds. Feverish and scared they would look at you with huge doe eyes fearful that you would be upset but you wouldn’t be. Instead you would get the cool cloth, bucket and water; wait until they were sleeping again; if you were lucky; and then throw the laundry in at four thirty on a school night. These are the things I wondered.
And they ask the best questions. Like why do they call the Milky Way the Milky Way? Or what’s behind the Moon? Or do Smurfs really exist and if they do are they good or evil? Who said eating dirt was really bad for you since vegetables grow in dirt? Questions. Hard questions too like why don’t you and Daddy love each other anymore? Or why can’t you move back in with us? Or why do you live with Uncle Gadget this year but not last year? And the hardest one … when are you and Daddy going to get married? Hard.
I sit there and have this conversation about children, family and lost generations with my friend. Though she had no children of her own I admire her tenacity. In her naivety she has no clue about the decisions parents make in the safety of their kin. She’s quick to scold, quick to pass judgement and I see where people may have their views. In all fairness I am angry too but it would have been worse to keep them from the other half of their family as well. In this decision it will always always be the mother to blame. No matter what the circumstances. It is always the mother who takes the blame.
So yes the statement is right. It is lonely and no you never get told that it will be the last time, and no we didn’t have great mothers. No we never appreciate the time left by our ancestors. No we never knew, the last time we spent with them, would be the last time. Our last moments slipped away between us.
But like you told me:
“We’re Native and here and now. Nobody told us how to be. Nobody told us how to love. Nobody told us we were loved.”
