Another sleepless night

Last night was another night of restlessness. I woke up to the thunder that won’t leave our city. It’s been raining here for weeks, and it doesn’t look like it will change anytime soon. The crash of lightening sounded so close that I shuddered and tried to snuggle down deeper into the sheets. I was frightened like a child watching the shadows dancing on my wall.

I miss my grandfather. I miss the way he would always tell me things straight. No frills, no innuendos, just the plain hard truth. It usually stung a little, but they were honest words. I learned to stand up tall and respect the truth for what it was and what it would do for me.

My life wasn’t surrounded by truth. It was something that lurked around corners, and was covered by my mother. She would save us from that bitter sting of the truth. We were confused, but not in pain. Eventually reality ceased to exist in that house. Our words were exchanged for others to fit a particular agenda. Your memory was altered to aid the design of another’s agenda. Our perception was a combination of cloudy facts and prescribed ideas.

I would jump out of my parent’s car and right into the lap of my grandfather. Tell me everything. Tell me about when I was born. Tell me about your parents.

He would talk to me for hours. His blue eyes would light up during the pivotal parts of the story. His brow would furrow and he’d puff on his cigar in a magnificently strong manner. His demeanor commanded respect. His character demanded honesty. At times I would ask questions too hard for him to answer. He knew the fables my parent’s spun, and would not directly reveal their lies. Instead he would tell me that my instinct was right and that something was wrong there, but that people do crazy things to try and help others.

From time to time he would expose the truth to me, regardless of my parent’s efforts to protect me. Some truths were essential to me and he knew that, and he offered those words at a heavy price. My grandmother often shamed him for going against my parents. She is a relentless woman living in a make believe world of her own.

Listening to the rain last night, my instincts were warning me of something. Something is not as it appears in my world. I can feel the lie lingering, but I can’t uncover the deception. I’m afraid of it. I feel like that little girl who wants to go back and sit in her grandfather’s lap. I yearn for the assurance that everything will be all right. I want him to remind me how strong I am. I want to hear his words telling me that I am different than the people around me, but to be thankful for that gift.

Like I said, I just miss my grandfather and it won’t stop raining.