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The absence of comfort.
The absence of talk.
The absence of you in my everything.
Lost.
Gone.
Underneath a thousand tears.
It must be filled.
It must be drowned.
The silence you’ve left behind.
My mother,
My friends,
Everyone I ever knew.
I am the solitary pine tree swaying on the hill.
Shed branches underneath,
Torn by the merciless biting wind.
Are the cold long hours of early morning the worst?
Maybe.
When I’m the only living thing around.
The only breathing thing.
The only heart beating,
Stretching,
Like pizza dough,
Torn apart and reshaped each day.
Despite the fact that I do not want it.
You force this.
You enjoy it too.
Yes, I know you do.
It is your vice – to exert control.
Because I rejected you and your God.
How dare I have thoughts of my own?
What utter brazen cheek.
My presumption must not go unpunished.
That much is clear.
Or is the bustling daytime my actual nemesis?
When I’m supposed to go on,
Like nothing has happened,
In a world I was ill prepared for.
Must I swallow the pill,
Of my own mother crossing the road,
To avoid ‘this’ dead person that is/was her daughter?
Nope.
I refuse to yield.
I’m fucking here.
Disfellowshipped or not.
Suffering for my freedom,
But even then rejoicing.
You have not won in this case I’m afraid.
And never will.
Because I prefer the morning,
If silence is what I must endure.
And endure it I certainly must.
It is full of my thoughts and determination.
Full of promise, passion and self praise.
In the pearly sliver of approaching day,
Bird song chimes out to me from the twilight.
Sensing my blessed relief at winning freedom.
And my gratitude to have earned it.
Of all the things the Jehovah’s Witness organisation robbed me of, the loss of my mother is the most painful. It is a wound that will never heal.
If you’d like to know more of my experiences as a Jehovah’s Witness and my experiences of excommunication, you can read my book Not Your Legacy.
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