Mourning Land

I am hurting.
I am sorry
this may not make much sense.
I was little when my parents
bought a piece of land
built a house
made a home step
by step added layer after
layer until theirs was a family of six.
I was 6 when my Father passed away.
I remember only the things a six year old remembers.
I remember bear hugs  and all encompassing warmth
from love and fury the ways Dads did.
I remember watching them through the rain lower
him in his box into the ground.
but there was the land.
It was a five star kitchen
and we served the best mud-pies with sides of cattails.
Then there was my step dad.
It was Hell in many ways
as his children were the demons
who would forever torment him
he could not love them enough
he would never love us too little
and there we were trapped in that.
But there was the land.
We explored it and it fed our tummies,
our hearts and our minds
some twenty years plus
there was divorce
but there was the land
it would stay with us and so we lived
our lives and took for granted that land would always be there.
We walked it. We looked out over it.  We loved it.
But we did not tend it.
Thirty years to the day
we lost Father number two.  Disbelief.
Pain. So raw.
But there was the land.
It was stable. It was constant. It was there.
As it was before.
Then it wasn’t.
I say goodbye not just to the land, but
to him and him.  To a Childhood of sketches and poetry and bumps,
bruises, and broken hearts.  To tears of sadness and of happy.
To smiles and laughter.  To cookie flour strewn about the laminate
floor and metal stairs that beckoned for injuries.  To the smell
of peat moss and the sound of pure country as the stars blink
at the cricket’s call.
I mourn the loss of the stage
that always played
my most favorite parts
of the life that was mine.
There are those that hurt
a same hurt
and I shall hold
on to them.

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