I'm Still Alive

At three she had seven blood transfusions.

At four she had the back of her skull crushed.

At five she was hospitalized four times for severe malnutrition.

At six she was padlocked in her room alone for three months.

At seven she was intentionally starved, beaten and raped. Repeatedly.

At eight she met her first friend in school. That wasn't allowed.

At nine she was hired out as a maid to the wealthy women.

At ten she was hired out as a maid to the wealthy women and yard hand to the wealthy men.

At 11 she learned to tie a rope through the loops in her pants. So, while the men were trying to untie that she could run away from them.

At 12 she was left at home alone. Without food. Without water. Without electricity. Back in the woods. No one knew she existed.

At 13 she learned to agree to whatever the adults said, but do her tasks in her way instead. She learned to lie, hide, sneak and fake comply.

At 14 she defended herself against her mother's boyfriend. She left home walking. No one came looking for her.

At 15, 16 she lived in fields and stranger's barns, staying hidden from the world, and periodically finding her way to a relatives for food. She worked cleaning the homes of the wealthy or watching their kids. She bathed in the river and ate from the wild. Summers were magic. Filled with flowers and animals and birds. She braided flowers for a crown and pretended to be Queen of the Forest. Never knowing anything of the world outside of the world that she had known and the one she created for herself during those days of summer.

But winter was harsh and she couldn't survive outside alone. She had to go home. Back to them. Back to the role of slave and maid to the adults. Laundry was never ending. She had to get up before daylight. Build the fire in the wood-stove to warm the house every morning before they got out of bed. Breakfast had to be cooked and on the table awaiting her rulers. At least, at least now they didn't force her to have sex. She was strong and fought like a demon. They called her words like special and crazy. She didn't listen and she didn't talk to them. Unless it was to answer a question. Her responses were always short. She knew they didn't care for her. All the days of these winters were spent in servitude and quietness. All these days of winter were spent waiting for the daffodils to bloom. Then she could leave again. There wasn't any conception of calendar time or linear time. There were only the seasons. There were only freedom or slavery in these cold days...

She said that every year when the daffodils bloomed all she could think of was to leave, to run away.

But she didn't run away. She stayed and raised the family she created.

She worked full-time and put herself through college.

She managed to keep her mind and her soul clean despite the evil she was surrounded with in her youth.

She traveled the states and had planned to go to Europe one day.

She learned of and loved God all her adult life.

She taught so many children how to read, how to write, and how to love with her kindness and her alluring spirit of hope and true warmth.

She died today and I buried her. As her coffin was being lowered into the ground I looked around the graveyard. There, just at the end, close to her grave was a patch of daffodils. They were in full bloom. The wind blew their yellow heads slightly. The flowers swayed back and forth in rhythm. I smiled as the tears rolled down my face.

Run away my precious, precious woman.

The daffodils are blooming and your endless summer has begun.

I know you are still alive in the other realm.

Daffodils are waiting to crown The Queen of the Forest.