During the COVID-19 Virus, I’ve been struck with a cleaning virus, not to make light of the situation, but it’s a bit much even for me.
Going through drawers, I found a picture of Howard, my biological father.
He left for “greener” pastures when I was 5, new love, family, new everything.
He never helped, physically, mentally or financially after he left, not a penny, not a call, not a card.
I looked at his picture and wondered to myself, why I have kept it all these years? After all, he’s a stranger, a bit actor in a movie no one wants to watch.
Then it struck me, he to me is a “statue” of my past, this danged picture that I won’t throw away, which brings up pain every time I see it. It fills me with sorrow for my mother, a book of sad stories when he refused to help, refused to visit, refused to love.
When I look at it, I don’t see him, I see my mom, I see doing “with-out” made me the woman I am today. I see that no matter how low on the ladder you start, that if you believe in yourself, you can make it. I also see the mentors in my life who stepped into his role without thought of reward.
I keep it, so that I can look at it and remind myself that I am not him.
I keep it so that I can look into my past and forgive.
I keep it so that I will never repeat in my life, what he did in his.
I keep it to remind myself, just how far I have come.
Perhaps, that’s what statues are all about, a painful reminder of where we’ve been, how far we’ve come, never want to revisit and how to forgive.
That being said, I simply cannot post his picture out of respect for my mom, I know she’s watching. #girlwithguitar