She stared back at me from timid eyes, almost sorrowful, yet the occasion I knew well was celebratory. Somewhere in the fathomless depths of her brown eyes I sensed rather than saw hopelessness despite her mere eight years. While this month always holds conflicting memories, making peace with May memories this year seems even harder.
At times, trips down memory lane are as precarious and potentially hazardous as navigating a mine field.
One afternoon in the midst of working on a new poem, which started out as a whimsical peek at some pink petals, a vivid personal memory stepped into my consciousness.
As if a long-buried truth became dislodged by the fluttering pink petals encountered on a spring walk. For the vision was the little girl described in the first paragraph, standing under a pink canopy of dogwood blossoms.
Captured on the day of my First Holy Communion, in May of 1966, I stood adorned in my white dress and veil, hands folded in front of me. Taken in nearby Audubon Park, the very same spot where my parents were photographed after their wedding.
Overcome with the vision, I did something I never do, opened a box of childhood photos to find that picture and there it was, exactly as it stood imprinted in my memory.
They say you can never go home again, and in one photo, a flood of past pain like all those pretty pink petals floating from the trees above, came tumbling into my heart.
The fact is, I left my childhood home forty-three years ago and never once looked back. Which included never looking at childhood photos, even after my mother’s death last year.
Despite well-meaning intentions of my brother’s wife in boxing all of the photos found in my mother’s apartment for me, I never once took the time to look at them.
Until now.
And every part of me wanted to run the other way. But a whispered invitation beckoned me to make peace with painful May memories.
Though the memory of my First Holy Communion from a May long ago was not a perennial May memory, it accentuated the yearly visitors. Not a May 1st passes without remembering my father on what this year would have been his 87th birthday had he not died at age forty-nine.
Never sharing any childhood memories, my father always shared his favorite memories of May Day celebrations, which held a special place in his heart. Perhaps the sad little boy who would later succumb to alcoholism, compulsive gambling and a host of other vices meant to numb a painful past, felt those May Day celebrations were for him in some way.
May quickly advances to my parents’ wedding anniversary on May 4th, which in 2024 had they both survived, would be their 67th wedding anniversary.
Then May memories melt into my mother’s birthday on May 10th, which like my father, would have been her 87th birthday had she not gone on to glory last year. Having written a poem about her life on her 70th birthday, I now read it to her through tears.
Unlike my father, my mother shared a great deal about her childhood, which rarely held anything but sorrow and abuse, often covering her birthday with an unsettled gloom.
Not to mention Mother’s Day, which often coincided with my mother’s birthday, as if that brought enough pain, I have my own sorrowful motherhood story to hold on that day.
All of which filled me with more than trepidation when considering accepting the invitation to finally make peace with painful May memories.
In my most recent therapy session, my counselor suggested my perennial May memories had become a familiar pain much like a headache. Though unpleasant, they are a part of life, and we tolerate them now and then when they come.
Though seeing her point, I still had no intention of making complete peace with a painful past as vivid in May as the glorious blooms in my garden.
Until the visit from my eight-year-old self.
Of all the memories, she came with one from the month of MAY. She came with one which should have been joyous, but because of a harsh incident of abuse, became another May casualty.
She came in a May memory, but her eyes held the memories of many months. They told the story of rejection, loneliness, abuse, and an eerie hopelessness, all in the eyes of eight years of life.
But they held so much more than those things. For they did more than tell a truth, they held the key to unraveling a bigger truth, one that would finally set me free. One which would make peace with all of the May memories.
Making peace with painful past memories is not about rewriting the past, or even denying the truth of past pain, it is about viewing it through eyes of compassion and mutual suffering.
The fathomless brown eyes not only spoke their own pain, but they reflected the pain of two hurting and broken people, unable to break free from their own painful pasts.
Though incapable of understanding with my immature child mind, I now see many of the painful incidents buried in my psyche, were simply the re-enactments of the very things both my parents experienced as children.
While understanding never excuses wrong behavior, it binds up the wounds which before brought only paralyzing pain.
As an adult acknowledging my own flawed and sinful behavior, brings new compassion coupled with the fellowship of the broken in suffering. As a redeemed adult, I see God’s healing hand at work through the endless thread of forgiveness woven through my story.
Though the work of healing encompasses years and will not find completion until eternity, making peace with painful May memories becomes an extension of God’s redemptive work in my life.
Perhaps, like Jesus, the scars we carry into eternity will not only tell a story of pain once experienced, but the story of a redemptive Love which made every wounded place new again.
For my parents, what simply could not find healing on this earth, has now been made whole in the Presence of Christ. And when one day we meet again, the only emotion we will know will be Joy as we embrace all which God worked together for our good and His glory.
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Your courage to share your journey in ‘Healing Journey’ is truly remarkable.
Beverly so pleased you were blessed by these words; may all glory be to God.
Donna, thank you for sharing your transparency and vulnerability in your tender words. I am touched deeply.
Thank you for sharing this tenderhearted post with Sweet Tea & Friends this month.
Thank you, Paula for taking the time to read my post, you are such a blessing to me!
Oh dear friend, I know it cost you greatly to write these words, but I am so thankful that you did. I am truly sorry for the pain that May holds for you. So much pain. But what a gift that you are now able to see both your younger self and your parents through eyes of grace and compassion. Sending you a big hug this morning.
Thank you, Lois for your gracious and kind words. Yes, this was not an easy post to write, yet I know it is what the Lord wanted me to do. It was good for me to process in this way and see God’s hand at work in ways I never realized. The path to healing is never an easy one, but somehow when we share just a bit of our journey it lightens the burden. Resting in your warm hug, Friend!
Few words embrace the wonder of His amazing, healing love in our hearts and minds. You have captured His love so beautifully in sharing your journey, Donna.
Lisa, God’s healing love is unparalleled and unfailing!
Thank you so much for sharing your open-hearted blog post. Your willingness to be so honest and vulnerable is truly admirable. Let’s embrace our inner selves with an abundance of love and empathy. Although things may not have been ideal in the past, we can find solace in accepting the present just as it is. It’s a journey of healing, one where the tears shed are not of weakness but of strength and growth.
I am writing a memoir and I find myself able to shed tears for the poor anxious girl I once was, a luxury denied in the past. xxx
Thank you, Aritha, for your kind and gracious words. It is so hard to embrace those inner places of pain and shame isn’t it? And yet those are the very places God wants to do His greatest work within us. I agree with you, though the past was not ideal, we can embrace the present as it is, knowing we are exactly where God wants us to be, and that He redeems everything for our good.
Such a beautiful thought, “a journey of healing, one where the tears shed are not of weakness but of strength and growth.” May God bless you as you write your memoir, may it be a time of healing and renewal for you! So proud of you for stepping out in that way!
There’s so much pain to manage in the span of a lifetime. It’s unbelievable that God’s mercy and grace could be adequate for it all, and if I hadn’t experienced it myself, I probably wouldn’t believe it!
Michele, I echo your very true words-indeed the pain of a lifetime is overwhelming, but the mercy, grace and love of God is far greater.
So vulnerable, so profound ! Even as our wounds eventually become scars , they can be recalled with ever new perspectives of healing . To focus on Gods work in the healing and give Him all the glory is a testimony so powerful for you who experienced it, as well as your readers. The month of May certainly is very impactful for you. ❤️
Thank you, Margie, for your kindness, and taking the time to read this post. As much as I did not want to visit this part of my story, I am glad God walked with me there. While I know there is much healing yet to be received, I feel a measure of comfort and true peace with this painful memory. God redeems all our pain!
Dear Donna, may the writing of this chapter of your story give you a sense of relief, release, and hope. Thank you seems insufficient. But I admire and applaud your pathway toward healing. And yes, there’s something about May/June that seems heavy in among the celebrations. He understands …
Thank you, Linda, the writing of this tender time, has accomplished all of those things, along with a measure of healing. God often asks us to walk the hard paths back to the very places we have run from previously, but not to relive the pain, but to redeem it.
Donna, you have shared these memories in such a transparent, vulnerable, and honoring manner. “Perhaps, like Jesus, the scars we carry into eternity will not only tell a story of pain once experienced, but the story of a redemptive Love which made every wounded place new again.” This so ministered to me this morning. I have often said that my own scars remind me not of the wound which caused them but of the One who healed them. I am so grateful you continue to write and share your wisdom. You are a blessing!
Joanne, I so appreciate your kind words. I wanted to share this vulnerable piece, but truly wanted it to be uplifting and honoring, especially to my parents. I praise God He used it to minister to you today. I so love your words, “I have often said that my own scars remind me not of the wound which caused them but of the One who healed them.” I couldn’t have said it better, I even made a note of your quote!
It’s encouraging to see how Christ can help us, not excuse, but better understand and come to peace with painful relationships. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you, Donna for taking the time to read my heartfelt story. I so appreciate your kind words.