I know you hate me, you got the right.
A boy named Sonny. His Grandmothers, Dalphina & Sophia. Dalphina bore a set of twins. Rosa Y Yolanda Jimenez. Sophia, among others bore Sonny's Father, Sonny.
I sit here, in the office after a very long, stretched-over-the-years type Sunday afternoon. I feel as though there is a knife fight going on beneath my sternum.
Sr. lives in the area. I don't even want to go through the details about how we found out. Rio Linda to be exact. He remarried before he ever was able to divorce their Mother. I felt dirty to have exchanged pleasantries with this woman, but also a great softness in my heart for all that goes on throughout the years...for the sheer fog that time can bring. I have sometimes thought that there is bad blood coursing through my veins. To be able to handle being invited into a molester's home, a baligamist's home, and exchange respect, handshakes even. I feel sick and unholy. But thankful we were invited in.
Everything in my body, to the marrow of my bones wants to have this. Wants to continue exchanging pleasantries until the man walks off the face of the planet...which should happen any day now from what I gather. I want to be close to them in so many ways. If only to know and observe Sonny's Father... in a way you can't ever know someone unless you are aware of their parents.
Sophia learned to say "Grandpa" last night. Because I told her eye to eye who this man was. She caught on quickly, as if she knew inside her skin that this was blood, bore from the womb of her namesake. (unintentional namesake)
I feel that the death sentence is the most terrible, tragic part, though it's poetic, in some ways, as Sonny doesn't now have to deal him that fated blow - I think he felt responsible for doing so, that he had to have vengeance. But there is always a part of us, a sincere, baby-like part, that absolutely has to give in, and take comfort in those who bore you, no matter what they did, before they go.
I cry.
I sit here, in the office after a very long, stretched-over-the-years type Sunday afternoon. I feel as though there is a knife fight going on beneath my sternum.
Sr. lives in the area. I don't even want to go through the details about how we found out. Rio Linda to be exact. He remarried before he ever was able to divorce their Mother. I felt dirty to have exchanged pleasantries with this woman, but also a great softness in my heart for all that goes on throughout the years...for the sheer fog that time can bring. I have sometimes thought that there is bad blood coursing through my veins. To be able to handle being invited into a molester's home, a baligamist's home, and exchange respect, handshakes even. I feel sick and unholy. But thankful we were invited in.
Everything in my body, to the marrow of my bones wants to have this. Wants to continue exchanging pleasantries until the man walks off the face of the planet...which should happen any day now from what I gather. I want to be close to them in so many ways. If only to know and observe Sonny's Father... in a way you can't ever know someone unless you are aware of their parents.
Sophia learned to say "Grandpa" last night. Because I told her eye to eye who this man was. She caught on quickly, as if she knew inside her skin that this was blood, bore from the womb of her namesake. (unintentional namesake)
I feel that the death sentence is the most terrible, tragic part, though it's poetic, in some ways, as Sonny doesn't now have to deal him that fated blow - I think he felt responsible for doing so, that he had to have vengeance. But there is always a part of us, a sincere, baby-like part, that absolutely has to give in, and take comfort in those who bore you, no matter what they did, before they go.
I cry.
