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I know when you read this, you’ll know it’s you I’m talking to.
I told you today when I said goodbye, that you are the epitome of grace in faith. And you said you didn’t feel like it.
There is no way I can, in any way, know what you’re going through. I don’t know what your private thoughts are. I don’t know what your feelings are when you’re feeling them. If you’re sad I have a general concept of ‘sad’ and how it feels to me. But I don’t know how ‘sad’ feels to you. The same for any other emotion. I know the feeling of that emotion for me. That does not, however, translate into knowing your feelings.
All I know is what I see. What I observe. What I take in and process.
And I see you. Moving among others. Moving with…
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Follow the orange blaze I heard.
Enjoy the day with your friend she asked.
And I said…sure.
It will be beautiful
We were pretty sure.
And we were right.
Just watch for those orange blazes.
And stick with your friend.
Until she disappears.
And this is the last known picture taken of me.
When I continued to follow the endless orange blazes…
As everyone else follows the white blazes.
And then call the forrest rangers out to find and rescue you.
I was not lost.
I knew where I was.
I was not in the right place.
Until I got back to the right place.
I never stopped looking, moving and getting there.
I just took a longer time to get there.
I feel more vulnerable as an adult speaking, than I did as a molested child who never spoke.
I had a shitty epiphany tonight when I realized the above.
Tonight I had an hour long drive. In the dark. No moon light. No road lights. A straight shot between there and here. I didn’t turn on the radio. I didn’t sing. I thought. And this is what I thought.
Over the years I have been empowering myself to speak-and I do. It’s as if the gates that I had kept firmly locked as a child have been creaking open and doing so at a steady pace. The gates were pretty massive so they have had a long way to creak open. But with each passing year they are the gates that are opening wider to let the flood loose.
I have given myself permission to speak. I must speak, because…
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And I’m very sad.
Sad for him. Sad for us.
Not because he’s gay.
But that he is the age he is and is just starting his life ‘free’.
I’m sad that for all of the hours we had sat and talked about so many different things, we never talked about that/this.
I’m sad that the world wouldn’t accept him.
I’m sad that he felt confined. His physical existence imprisoning his thoughts, emotions and feelings. He kept them walled in. To protect himself. And possibly others. The only place he could exist safely was within his mind. That doesn’t just make me sad, it breaks my heart.
I’m sad that he felt who he was, was wrong.
I’m sad that as close as we were at one time we missed the chance to help each other. Him to teach me and me to let him know…
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