The Next Step

One cannot go without the other, a throwback to years ago, or the moment when the story became one of significance, one that others would want to know about, and that in knowing would offer hope and even help to make others stronger. It's time to cross over, still in small steps, one breath at a time.

The process happened by degrees, almost imperceptible; not being in the middle of it or understanding what was happening would provide a different perspective or opinion. I know the child the same as when first seeing them: what every movement meant, every expression, every utterance, every little noise, every pause.

It was as if I had gone back for the first time to having been where they were, feeling it all over again, reminded of what had been all but completely forgotten, buried in years of existence, what I had thought was a life, until the child appeared, then life and love had new definitions. Whatever the previous ones were could not ever be considered or entertained again. All was in the past, and all that mattered was looking to me, understanding my every glance, touch, and feeling, crying when my presence couldn't be felt in the dark, going quickly back to sleep knowing I was there (while I laid awake for hours wondering what had caused such urgency so suddenly).

I would find out, eventually. Parts of the puzzle came together almost as suddenly: a rising tide that once the flood subsided could not ever be the same again either. Only later would I learn the full scope and truth of a chain of events that faded against the tunnel-vision of fear and flight. A hundred books would be read with the child either elsewhere or sleeping softly in the wee hours before it was time to go out. A little hand would reach out to hold mine, content that there was finally some peace. A tear would be wiped by a blanket, words expressing from the place we had found how lucky I was not to have to go to where they didn't want to.

Even the day before it was time, the tears would start, sometimes running after me, sometimes screaming. I knew this child; nothing that was described as expected was normal or okay. The alternatives only added to what I knew had to be solved. There was no available solution that could take away what had been done that was brought to my attention. The child is now not the same.