Sorting through the papers

I was looking for some photos today in a box that had old papers. I came across a folder from my college poetry class. So, I sat down and took about an hour looking through it. The first thing I noticed was the pages upon pages of handwritten notes. I started reading through them and realized that it was the journal that our instructor made us keep. I think we had to turn in 25 handwritten pages a week. That’s a lot to do! Reading through those pages was pretty amazing. In them, I found a poem I never really finished writing about my grandmother, who died this past October. Maybe now that her story is done, I can go ahead and finish the poem. Maybe when I’m done with it, I’ll post it here.

Looking back through all those pages I see such raw emotion poured out. I was so angry, and hurt and searching everywhere for acceptance. I’m saddened to realize just how long I looked for that unconditional love when I’ve had it all along. This folder has been there for 15 years. There were poems about my dad, about boyfriends, about children I’d known, about my hair, about my hands, about my fears. It’s truly amazing what we carry around in boxes for years and years. Finally, that insecurity and the constant searching has come to a stop. Maybe it just took me longer to grow up than most people, even though I had a head start. They say children of divorce grow up faster (or maybe just too fast). I felt old when I was 12, but yet, still a scared lonely child until I was almost 35. I will be forever grateful to the counselor who could finally walk me through the healing process of bringing that little girl out of the dark corner and re-integrating her into myself. It was miraculous, and resulted in the wholeness I’ve been searching for my whole life. Maybe I should write a poem about that. I probably will.