Two nights ago, while waiting for the tornado warning to pass, I wrote in my journal for the first time since January. The only other things in my journal were flowers I drew and a rant (I don’t even remember what it was about), which I tore out and ripped up months ago.  

I wrote that I am not alive or dead but in an unchanging limbo of checking out. I can tell this because I’m not doing the things I used to do daily that I loved. Meditating. Writing. Walking outside. Gardening. Cooking delicious vegan meals. Showering. Even taking a fucking shower has become undoable most days.  So, instead of yelling at myself, I wrote down the details of my latest dream and tried to analyze it.

The dream was about two brute brothers (mine) who ripped my baby boy from my arms and gave it to our family’s sworn enemy to broker peace.  What was this dream trying to tell me? I read that dreams about babies are about a hope that is being born or a tiny part of you that is vulnerable. If the baby is threatened, that part of you is being threatened. I asked myself, What is at war in my life right now? Me. I’ve been at war with myself all my life. But why recently? 

When I woke up from this horrible dream, I felt an overwhelming, almost unbearable anguish at the loss of my baby.  This anguish was familiar. When I began to analyze the dream, I realized I was the brute brothers in my dream. Twice — in 1985 and 1995 — I was the one who decided to rip my baby from my arms. I had good reasons at the time. My other two children would have been taken by their father and his family if I hadn’t given my son up for adoption in 1985. I’d be forever tied to a rapist in 1995 if I didn’t give up my daughter. But it was I who ultimately gave myself the same wound. Twice.

I’ve been paying for what I’ve done ever since, and I was the torturer who exacted my revenge.

Over the years, I’ve unsuccessfully tried to forge relationships with the two children I gave up. They either ignored me or poured blame and hatred on me. I wasn’t angry about this — I thought I deserved it. I have been patient and loving, trying never to intrude, reaching out only rarely (birthdays, Christmas). Or, if invited, I would follow them via social media, I would try to stay on the fringes. I never wanted to force myself into their worlds. All the while, I kept waiting for a sign of their forgiveness. While writing about this dream, I realized that this waiting has been the reason for my despair.

In 2007, my husband played a new song that was getting a lot of air time on the radio, “What I’ve Done” by Linkin Park. When I heard it, I sat down on the bed and started to cry. Today, this song speaks to me again, especially these lyrics.

Put to rest
What you thought of me
While I clean this slate
With the hands of uncertainty

So let mercy come and wash away

What I’ve done
I’ll face myself
To cross out what I’ve become
Erase myself
And let go of what I’ve done

For what I’ve done
I start again
And whatever pain may come
Today this ends
I’m forgiving

What I’ve done

I made a choice twice in my life that caused me to be nothing to two of my children. I am not their mother except by the act of birth. They may never feel anything but animosity or apathy for me. That is their choice, and one I will never judge. I do understand. I know I will never stop loving them. But I can stop waiting for their permission to be happy.

Today this ends. I’m forgiving what I’ve done.

This post is tied to the upcoming Gems 10.86 and our new theme, “Lyrical Love Letters to Us” (#LLL2us) on under1000skies.org. The Gem will be posted on Monday the 8th. If you have a song that has impacted you, like this song has me, please share it.

Feature Image by Jeon Sang-O from Pixabay.