Wolf pack of one
I know it’s been done.
But, my Momma was saying it back
Before the birth of Zach.
She was alone in her pain when
She started the fading
Just wanted to go to the woods
Be alone, we understood.
But we were a wolf pack of three
Mom, my sister, and me.
Never give up on each other
Especially when it’s your Mother.
She decided it was exiting time
She was gone on a dime.
But, we all said our farewells
Made promises through Heaven or hell
We kept every one to a T
Now a wolf pack of Two from one of three
It’s always later not goodbye.
Until the sweet by and by
Every day’s a habit,
A crime within its glory.
Every life’s a script,
Begging never forget history.
And, every soul is forfeit,
Depending upon your behavior.
Until you have met the Master,
The ever living Savior.
My dad was the kind of guy who liked to talk when he went to the bathroom. He would keep the door way too ajar for any of us- letting the gaseous asseous out- or as Mom referred to it the odiferous odor. He would think of something random and call for someone to come to the cracked door to tell all about it. This throne with court is where the idea to use used feminine hygiene products to bait deer was birthed. The problem was it worked. He had his brilliant ideas on the pot and his stupid ones in front of the TV- the Garden Weasel and Magic Chain.
Well, one night dad got hangry, and wanted some soup beans with Jowl Bacon. He hollered for my brother who happened to be hurrying by on the way to his room.
“Hey Luke! Do ya know Jowl Bacon?”
“No, dad. What kind of a car does he drive?“
“No. Jowl Bacon!”
Mom started snickering from her living room perch. Thea was moving closer to the edge of her bed to hear all the better, my dear. I was at my desk doing homework with baited breath waiting to see what would happen next.
“Does Joel come into the store often, dad?”
“No, Jowl Bacon!”
That was it! Thea fell off of her bed with a thud doing her I can’t breathe I am laughing too hard. The pen flew out of my hand as I belly laughed my way to the bed. Mom and her cigarette came into the hallway behind Luke and explained what jowl bacon was. Mom cooked up her beans with jowl bacon that cold to the bone, winter night, and we slept with the windows cracked.
Beans, beans, the magical fruit…
I feel off- not myself. I advocated for myself today, and the whole thing just felt wrong. I sat with this feeling and others for quite a while, and then it hit me. Since my voice, my choice, my song was taken from me right from the start of my life, I don’t know how to speak up for myself. I don’t know how to say “no.” No, this isn’t working. No, I am not being true to me. No, this feels awkward, confusing, forced, frightening, etc.
Now, I have no problem taking up for two people: God and the underdog. God because from those crazy years of torture and abuse to now when I am stricken with the pain of grief, He has never left my side and has never forsaken me. I may have walked away from Him, but He remained and even left the ninety-nine to come and find me. God because He got in the mire and the muck of the abuse with me and ultimately saved me from it, from them.
The underdog is a different story. It’s really my story played out in another person. I see myself in them and the talons come out, and I scratch and scrape to help them out of their pit-or I used to. I got tired along the way. Lost my passion-even for people which was my greatest gift.
I am searching for my passion now. My voice. My song. My story. My strength to say “no” and “enough” and many other powerful magical words. So, if you see any of these things of mine out there, tell them I am coming. Tell them I am on my way back home to me.