Visions

Visions

Visions of waking and early morning mist rising off the water,
Water from a pond I fished from as a child;
Visions of waking to the smell of burnt wood,
Wood that had burned all night in a potbelly stove;
Visions of waking on top of mounds of feather tics,
Feather mats which made up the bed that I slept in.

Visions of gathering eggs with a woman I would later call ‘mom’,
A bedraggled woman who was tanned from too much work in the sun;
Visions of growing up not different from any other child,
Not knowing any different until later in life,
When told by a loved one of the deceit, secrecy and lies.

Visions of living two lives, different and yet the same,
One where I am taught right from wrong
The other where I am allowed to do anything my heart desires;
Visions of growing older, not yet teen but no longer a child, only nine,
Where a man known as grandfather tells me the bedraggled woman is your mother.

I don’t understand what he is saying she is not my mother,
The woman tanned from too much work in the sun is his second wife;
My mother, his daughter from his other marriage will come to pick me up tomorrow;
Visions of confusion to me, the child;
Yet somehow I know what was being said is true.

Visions a few year later of another child being born to the bedraggled woman,
The woman tanned from too much work in the sun;
Visions of a little redheaded child,
Who follows me wherever I go, looking up to me.

Visions of growing up and moving on in life
Of marriage and nursing and children being born;
Visions of being told grandfather is ill
Of going to be a nurse by his side, till he dies;
Visions of the funeral and after
Being caught up in the life now made,
Not thinking of the bedraggled woman tanned from too much work in the sun;
The one he said was mother, but not forgetting ever

Visions of many years later asking the woman I grew up with,
“Who was my father” dealing with reality finally I was adopted;
Visions of the answer she tells me “Your grandfather, he is your father”;
The same man as her, we share the same dad.

Visions of family of deceit and of lies;
I guess I suspected as much all along but didn’t want to make it reality.

Visions of years later still, when my daughter says to me;
“I want to know my ‘real’ grandmother’.

Visions of not so many years ago, searching, questioning and finally finding,
That bedraggled woman tanned from too much work in the sun;
Visions of someone I came to know as a ‘mom’,
The woman who gave birth to me and wanted to nurture me but couldn’t;
Visions of how this woman told me how I came to be with the family I grew up with,
And of the story of the deceit, secrets and lies held within the family.

Visions of shame, my adoptive mom had instilled in me,
Shame of the bedraggled woman tanned from too much work in the sun;
And of the man known as grandfather while growing up and father years later,
Visions that have now become my reality.

My reality of learning to know this woman all over again as a mom.
And a reality of having a sister and niece to go along with it;
The reality of showing them the ocean for the first time in their lives,
And watching the excitement and wonder so new to those faces.

A reality of my children meeting blood relation for the very first time,
And of photographs of four generations;
A photograph I would probably not have had, if not for the request from my daughter.

However,
Visions of loneliness for all of those years wasted,
Years which have past and are gone and are never to be had again;
Visions of wondering how I would be had I been a part of my birthmothers life,
Knowing full well my life would not be what it is now.

These visions of past that I have now had fill me with joy,
For they are part of me and my family and what was meant to be.