Family?

Where do I start?

to say the things

- I've come to know are true.

To desperately look back for honesty and truth,

as I've been forced to do.

To admit that you've abandoned me,

-left me in my private hell.

Just like you did 20 years ago,

the family dynamics of denial -

fit and well.

So this is how true despair feels,

to have my trust in life destroyed.

To face my own gut truths,

and make contact with my pre-traumatised self.

As I struggle to keep on going,

and with my pain so hot to touch.

You gather forces to wash your hands of me,

cast blame and deny,

then sit together ….and discuss.

I should have expected that response,

(It's the "how you deal with Kas" way),

The black sheep who always seems edgy,

while I "live" the horror of just wasting away.

What it's like to have your baby taken?

It's not possible to express.

To have my child missing forever from my life,

but living somewhere as somebody else?

I've had to battle on with parts of me missing,

without my son and my pre-traumatised self.

Left empty, shattered and bleeding,

- I can only try to tell you how that feels.

At the time when I was limping,

and needed some help and support.

A hand came out to lead me-

(I thought) - to a safe spot.

To a family who would be there,

who claimed to know what love really meant.

Instead I got rejection, isolation and shame!

It seems the "charity" just ran out.

The "safe spot" that I was lead to,

turned out to be a railway track.

And before I could focus on where I was

-the train had hit me with full impact.

My legs were ripped viciously from my body,

I was left overwhelmed and numb.

But you ignored me, never spoke of it,

and just kept walking on.

For 20 years I crawled along that track

not a hand or a kind word was felt.

My loss of legs (and life) was ignored,

because I "should've been over THAT".

But numbness couldn't last forever,

the implosion is slow and cruel.

Traumatic memories flood my every cell,

phantom pains empty the remnants of my soul.

At the edge of despair and with no strength left,

I saw another train looming in.

I tried to get up, but was hit a second time,

once again, you were nowhere in sight.

I thought I'd catch that second train,

reconnect and help us heal.

But the wounds unnumbed - left me terrified and bleeding,

flooding trauma of that first hit-

unrelenting.

"You were on the tracks, Kas", you said,

"It's got nothing to do with us!"

And I moaned and sobbed to the silence,

and the black hole

became an abyss.

To the one who pretended to help me,

then sat me in the vultures way.

Then ignored my muteness, pain and shock,

As she said , "Sure, here she is, take her away".

To mothers who know the strength of the mother/child bond,

don't tell me you know how it feels.

Your baby wasn't violently harvested from your body,

you weren't treated like you'd had a stillbirth.

Your baby wasn't taken (sight unseen!)- for adoption,

you weren't drugged, deceived and condemned.

Your family welcomed your babies with love and delight,

not rejection ( that they still will not claim).

So don't keep telling me it shouldn't hurt,

I haven't the energy to explain anymore.

Trauma has gashed a chasm in my landscape,

- even light rain is drawn down to its core.

Can you get me out of the 'delivery' room?

I'm back there all the time.

Just do not sit and judge me.

It wasn't me who committed the crimes.

I know that I'll never recover,

from the devastation of our loss.

But you - keep on pretending!,

I'm trying to cope,

-with the continuing trauma of our lives apart.

The shame and disgust is devastating,

but not for things I have done.

My shame is for that "family" of yours

(I believe that you still call it one).

Ashamed that you've known of my distress,

- and that I've been so close to death.

Ashamed that no-one will break the denial

- that there just isn't anyone strong enough.

Ashamed that there is no acknowledgement,

of the violent separation of mother and son.

Just more lies and pretending,

-re-traumatising us both over again.

Ashamed that there is no recognition,

of the generational trauma and abuse!

That my child was taken from our family!

that the irresolvable wounds can never heal.

What cold, heartless hypocrites,

who STILL stand tall and point!

Who must believe my abuse was "deserved"

that their denial will keep me mute.

But you see, I can't go back there,

my traumatic memories are flooding back.

Like an old black and white silent reel movie,

- brought to full horror with colour and sound.

But the movie doesn't stop for me ,

it will haunt me until I die.

Constant replays, triggers, grief and struggling,

life's meaning for me just….gone.

Kas May 1999 Copyright