Friday, July 14, 2006

"And don't the Good Book say we shall inherit all our fathers' sins?
And there ain't no hope for me honey 'cause I know my daddy's been
straight to hell
and back again
and if he called me up tomorrow I would not know what to do
or what to say to him
so I sing it to the night 'cause the night won't go away...
And it's a fearsome lonely ache, at night I holler it into the wind,
Feelin' for the hole deep inside me where he should've been
But I've got nobody to blame because I know that his daddy was worse
He was much worse than him
So I sing it to the night 'cause the night won't go away,
Scream my rage into the night 'cause the night won't go away..."
--Kim Forehand

That's such an amazing song; I wish I had it on something besides an old cassette (that's been played so many times that the magnetic coating has rubbed off in places). That cassette was given to me when I was in my first year of high school by a woman who taught at one of my summer enrichment camps, and thereafter adopted me as a daughter of sorts. Yohanna, if you're out there, hello and I love you.
And that song is how I feel tonight. I'm working through things. This is what I came home to do this summer, yes? And yet I wasn't prepared to feel like I'd been slammed in the chest with a double-barreled shotgun of sadness. I should be used to it, I know. Sadness, you can learn to live with--to ride it, like a wave, or sink under; even kicking and screaming for all your life's worth gets to be old hat after a while. But grief. Grief, there's the rub. For everything that should have been but wasn't; for the things that should never have happened but did.
And grief for the world at large--for Israel, for Palestine. Or rather, for the Israelis, the Palestinians; the Jews, the Muslims, the Christians--the PEOPLE, in other words, not the states. For the raw tangible suffering on the face of a mother who has learned her only son is dead. For the centuries of hurt, rage, shame. For a world that could be heaven but is made hell, by our own doing.

No comments: