When I was six, my mother would always call me her little bear cub, saying I slept through even the worst storms. She told me I could probably sleep through a hurricane if one ever hit our small, sleepy town in Ireland. She said that always made her worry... I told her she was odd and not to worry, as I stepped on the Titanic to go to America.
My head hit the top bunk with a hard thunk, it began to pulse painfully. My eyes scanned the dimmed room, I could hear thumping outside the door. Who would be running around at this hour? I thought. I had always been good at timing, my mother said. My toes slipped out from under momma's warm blanket to the cold floor. A shiver ran down my back under my plain nightgown, making my blonde hair stand on end. How queer. I'm not usually this cold. I wrapped momma's blanket around my shoulder's, dark from working in the garden with my sister's who had stood ither six inches taller or two feet shorter.
My head began to spin as I stood up too quickly. I fell back down to my bed. Air. I need air. Slowly, I stood up and snuck away out the door like my puppy, Hounder, who liked to sneak off for a midnight snack of rabbit or possom. The air hit me with a bitter cold twist. I shook all over, my teeth chatered involuntarily, the blanket slipped away from my shoulders, and I wished to go back to bed. But I saw a man running toward me, he wore the clothing of a man on crew. I stopped him.
"Excuse me, sir. What-" I began thru chattering teeth. He cut me off.
"Run! The boat is going down!" He ran off banging on the doors as he went yelling "The Titanic is sinking! The Titanic is sinking!"
I felt my eyes grow wide like an owl. The atmosphere on the boat changed. All of sudden everyone went running out of there rooms. The classes blurred together as they ran to reach the life boats like animals: pushing people down, clawing to get to the lifeboat first, and running past like rhinos. I felt cold, greedy fingers push my frozen form to the ground my firey red curls swung round my face as I hit the deck. Momma...Dear God please let mother be okay.Please don't let her worry about me.
I tried to get up quickly enough to find a lifeboat to sneak on. SLAM. The stewards crammed us back with a click of a lock. What was going on? There eyes spoke the truth: sorrow, remorse, despair... but mostly remorse. I heard people yell 'let us out' and 'don't do this'. I saw grimy fingers trying to reach out to the stewards. I felt them push me into the bars as they tried to find a way to pull off the lock. I could almost taste death.
"Forgive them, God, for they have sinned. Forgive them for putting us behind bars as though we have no worth. Forgive them, Lord, for they are sinners." I prayed as I saw life boat after lifeboat fill halfway then lower without me, momma's middle born. "Forgive me. Forgive the hate I now hold in my heart towards these men." I spat. "Show me the strength to forgive them. Show me the light to you, oh heavenly father."
Suddenly a frail old woman joined my prayers and so did a small young boy. We held each other as we saw them lower the last life boat.... "Amen." I whispered with them as felt my heart let go of all the pain and saw the sea pass over my body. Momma's blanket wasn't so warm anymore. It was cold, heavy, and a bitter reminder I wouldn't make it. Not unless a miracle happened.
Momma's baby sank with the ship behind the gate the stewards had locked by the captains command. As much as I wanted to hate them, I was to good a woman for that. I closed my eyes with the water and let it wash me free of my sin. The hate I held in my heart. I let go of the bars and floated back, felt the bubbles go out my nose, the ice envelop me.
Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Forgive me, sinner that I am lord, as I forgive them.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
The Sunflower Effect
The Sunflower by Simon Wiesenthal
Page 92 "Was sorrow our common link? Was it possible for grief to be an affinity?"
Within this scene Wiesenthal is meeting with Karl, the SS man's, kindhearted mother who is speaking about what a good boy he was. Yet as she says this Wiesenthal wonders if he should tell her the "naked truth" and about all the things that Karl did when he was alive. However as he sees the grief within her, he understands his own grief and now feels a connection with this woman who birthed the man who could have killed him or someone he knew, yet he cannot tell her. He doesn't want to cause this poor woman any more pain than she has already found with the loss of husband and son.
In this world we are all divided by race, gender, religion, sexual orientation, and money, friends, and so much more. We all act superior to one another and people usually just lay back and accept it. In school the board holds jocks and cheerleaders about those on say drama club or archery. But when tragedy strikes we find one bond in a million differences. We find ourselves caught up in the moments of heartache and grief and we can see an invisible connection between us.
For example in the junior high a year ago, a retired teacher passed away. I personally never knew her, she had long since retired before I attended this school. Yet I saw one of my best friends finding comfort with girls she always claimed to not like very well. They were all crying together in the office and comforting one another: cheerleaders and nerds; stylish and the not; the sweet and the not-so-kindhearted. Grief is our affinity. I witnessed it myself.
Page 92 "Was sorrow our common link? Was it possible for grief to be an affinity?"
Within this scene Wiesenthal is meeting with Karl, the SS man's, kindhearted mother who is speaking about what a good boy he was. Yet as she says this Wiesenthal wonders if he should tell her the "naked truth" and about all the things that Karl did when he was alive. However as he sees the grief within her, he understands his own grief and now feels a connection with this woman who birthed the man who could have killed him or someone he knew, yet he cannot tell her. He doesn't want to cause this poor woman any more pain than she has already found with the loss of husband and son.
In this world we are all divided by race, gender, religion, sexual orientation, and money, friends, and so much more. We all act superior to one another and people usually just lay back and accept it. In school the board holds jocks and cheerleaders about those on say drama club or archery. But when tragedy strikes we find one bond in a million differences. We find ourselves caught up in the moments of heartache and grief and we can see an invisible connection between us.
For example in the junior high a year ago, a retired teacher passed away. I personally never knew her, she had long since retired before I attended this school. Yet I saw one of my best friends finding comfort with girls she always claimed to not like very well. They were all crying together in the office and comforting one another: cheerleaders and nerds; stylish and the not; the sweet and the not-so-kindhearted. Grief is our affinity. I witnessed it myself.
Friday, March 30, 2012
The Forgiveness Thing
A young woman aborts her baby to avoid the social stigma of being an unwed mother and child.
If you abort your baby, you are commiting murder. Instead of being selfish and doing the dirty deed and not dealing with the consequences, you can give your baby a better life by giving them up for adoption. Why should I forgive you for your triple sin of premarital sex, abortion, and murder when you brought it upon yourself? I wish I could forgive you, but abortion for selfish reasons instead of a more understandable reason is unforgivable. Forgiveness is not a right, but a gift. I cannot give you that gift, just like you couldn't give your baby life.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
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