Painting you black was such an easy thing to do. Compassion and grace were applied to everyone but you because the backstory of a villain is rarely pursued. But here in the cold cloak of grief, I wonder about the world from your point of view.
Trying to better understand you I roll the film of stories told and memories old.
Scene one:
Entering as a third son. All blessings come on their own time, but you were an unplanned late-in-life one. Depression brushed off as baby blues there was so little anyone knew. Children are never to blame but understanding and compassion are only through time attained.
Comparison steals joy making measuring up a constant ploy. Competition mixes with success slowly moving the line from confidence to arrogance. All families are complicated and yours is no exception. Entangled in adult complications unfair demands are placed on your time and attention.
Scene Two:
Harsh lessons replace the lenses of childhood innocence blurring right and wrong. Anger and bitterness dance with independence while loneliness sings its siren song. Determination fades and the nights grow heavy and long. Living life in varying shades of grey. No one understands or stays.
Scene Three:
Physical labor became the trade. Sweat and toil justified the drink that slowly sifted your years away. Mistakes are too big and too ugly to face you so cover them with outrage. If only if only you cried. Blameless, broken, and sad in your bottle you hide.
Scene Four:
A hand reached down pulling you from your hole. Recovery patched your tattered soul. A chasm now lies between you and the responsibility you should take. Seeing the damage inflicted by your hands shame grips your tongue silencing amends.
Regrets of your past hidden behind little piles of cash. But it is a thin veil, and your purchasing of affections fails. Confrontation finds you with that familiar cold drink in hand. Admit what you have to deny what you can. Feigned indifference becomes your final stand.
Scene Five:
Stuttered starting and stopping on constant repeat. Far too soon death is sitting next to your seat. Nothing but hindsight to help you see all the times you should have just said, ‘I’m sorry’. Your bargaining plea is for just one more opportunity.
Looking at your life like this, what I have learned is…
Forgiveness is never for the forgiven. But now I better understand the pain that made you such an easy villain.