Meditation on Mourning

 Woke up this morning with some clarity about my tears that fell on Friday when I learned of my father’s/abuser’s death. Mourning. Not his death, but mourning what my birth family could have been—at the very minimum,  safe. Mourning my childhood innocence. Mourning not having parents who were loving and affirming. Mourning not getting a good night’s sleep until I was away at college. Mourning not being close to my siblings. Mourning not being able to go home for holidays and summer breaks or to see my childhood friends or enjoy my favorite places to eat. Mourning having to be fiercely independent and working myself to death in order to become “economically self sufficient” because I had no emotional safety net that would allow me to “fail” and figure out my next steps at home. Mourning that when I left at age 18, I could never look back. Mourning not having power of how and when I was touched as a child. Yes, I am grateful that I have survived. Yes, I am grateful  that I was able to create a beautiful life for myself  but every once in a while I must create and be granted soft spaces to mourn. This is survival.