Joining in with Five Minute Friday: this week’s word Gather.
I have a running commentary in my head. One foot in front of the other, Helen, gather all your remaining strength, you can do this, you can do this, you can do this, you can do this. Pull the shattered pieces back in to myself, like magnetised mercury rolling back towards me, that scene in Terminator flashing before my eyes. I feel like that…I can feel I’ve still got my power button flashing, but I’m in pieces, pieces distributed all over the place, all over time, all over the world. Bits of me in England, when I’m younger, sitting amongst the daffodils in the park, in Greece, running along the beach, my feet in the swells, snow-topped mountain in front of me, majestic Nature energising me deep within. Then there are pieces further back in time, with my Gran, her holding my hand, telling me it’ll all be OK, or with my Grandad, making something in his workshop, him showing me the importance of planning and precision and dedication. Or the bits of me I left somewhere along the way whilst leaving England: friends, business, home, family, a whole way of life. A nice, simple, enjoyable life. Or the bit of me I left when I was in Cath Kidston with my brother, just before we travelled back here: tears rolling down my face, full panic attack at the sight of her London scenes, painted so gayly. The thought that they don’t have Cath Kidston shops where we’ve been dragged back to simply too much, in that moment, for me to bear. Thankful for my brother. For his fullness. Or the bit I left when he hit me the first time. Or the next time. Or the next. Bits of me, all over, me so fragmented, so very fragmented, shards from a bomb, really. But what he doesn’t know is that these pieces are, indeed, magnetised. Magnetised by love, bonded by kindness and clarity of purpose. By Divine, maternal, strength. The bits will all find their way back. I find they come when I’m least expecting it. A beautiful memory – all mine (he can’t take that away), a smell that reminds me of home and that strengthens my will to return, my knowledge that we will return. A sudden realisation that I am strong, that I can. That I will. Those little pieces come flooding back, little by little, but even a trickle provides life force. As a friend wrote to me the other day, “No weapon forged against you will prevail”. Rebuilding bit by bit. Shattered pieces shattered again. It’s all still there, I just need to gather: all the pieces and all the necessary strength. Life is beautiful. Too beautiful not to fight for. So kicking and screaming I fight. Because I’m ready to fight now. The last punch launched against me my call to arms. Let the full force of the law decide his fate. He knocked the situation well out of my hands as he tried to knocked his anger out through me.
[A little context for the piece; we have, as a family, experienced domestic abuse….]