Broken Bits

Alfred Lord Tennyson – 1809-1892

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
   The flying cloud, the frosty light:
   The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Christina Rossetti  1830 – 1894

New Year met me somewhat sad:   
Old Year leaves me tired, 
Stripped of favorite things I had,   
Balked of much desired: 
Yet farther on my road to-day, 
God willing, farther on my way.

Saturday mornings are sacred to a child: cartoons, pajamas, sugary cereals, and freedom! One of my favorite Saturday morning memories is waking up before everyone else, laying my mom’s Architectural Digest magazines across the floor, and building my dream home. I’d usually start with a big, beautiful living room and then search each magazine for the perfect kitchen, dining room, bathroom, and bedroom, to match. At seven-years-old, I may not have understood terms like “Rustic” or “French Country,” but I was pretty good at designing them.

As each star comes out to shine
As the wind rustles across the land
As the moonlight sweeps across the room
I’m thinking of you.

For years, Shark Week was like a holiday in our family home. At first, I was resistant. Why didn’t dolphins have a week?! Dolphins are far superior to sharks! They’re beautiful, fun, playful, intelligent, entertaining; how did sharks get a whole week? But, eventually, the continuous stream of mesmerizing shark footage and fascinating education sucked me in – I became hooked. The great white’s hunting methods were particularly intriguing and quite terrifying. They spotted their prey, looming from below, circling patiently until the perfect time to strike with a burst of speed. The shark then crashes into its target while simultaneously ripping into it with several rows of sharp, serrated teeth. The poor, oblivious prey doesn’t see it coming until it’s too late… How does one survive that?!

Titles are interesting things. It’s as if they are living beings that exist beyond the behaviors of those to whom they belong. Mother, Father, Husband, Wife, Sister, Brother, Pastor, Officer, Instructor, can be some of the most painful, confusing, and disappointing words when the expectation attached is far greater than the Titleholder can fill. Movies, tv shows, greeting cards, and obnoxious calendar days that we’re guilted to celebrate pick at wounds of neglect and abandonment for many. Making it almost impossible not to wallow in, and if you aren’t careful, internalize these failed suppositions.  

“You are not a mistake. You are not a problem to be solved.
But you won’t discover this until you are willing to stop
banging your head against the wall of shaming and caging and fearing yourself.
– Geneen Roth

Someone I love more than anyone in the world called to say that he needed me. Nothing particularly horrible had happened; there was no physical harm; he just needed me. He’d planned to drive the four hours from West Virginia to Ohio, take me home with him where we’d spend a few days together, and bring me back. He’s not the type of man who’d ever express an emotional need unless it was genuine and urgent. I knew this about him, but even if I hadn’t, the distress in his voice was audible and quite painful to hear. Yet, I said no.

“Dead people receive more flowers than the living ones because regret is stronger than gratitude.”

― Anne Frank

My grandma cared for every living creature around her. I remember being sick as a child; she would set up a private pediatric ward in our home with big, warm pots of soup along with her homemade medicines. It may have taken time for the physical ailment to pass, but something about the care she gave made me feel a deeper kind of healing. I loved her. I marveled as she repeatedly put her own life on hold to nurse loved-ones back to their former physical and emotional strength. For me, it was like watching Superwoman! Though I doubt Grandma saw it that way, she seemed to be doing what came naturally to her. She was by no means perfect; even as a child, that was clear, but she was beautifully imperfect.

“And then a Plank in Reason broke, And I dropped down, and down” -Emily Dickinson

I am Nikita. I realize it’s customary to say ‘my name is Nikita,’ but I’m quite certain that I actually am Nikita, in every way. In any circle, I would easily be considered honest, strong, bold, charismatic, altruistic, passionate, and fearless – even I struggle to oppose this assessment. Yet, somehow, I have managed to keep a very sick and badly broken heart tucked hidden within myself for more than 30 years.