The Writing on the Wall

The writing is on the wall,

but I look away in fear of becoming what I see.

The true confession of my soul yearning to be set free.

Am I not a coward?

Who goes there?

What judgement has been rendered?

Do you see what I see?

These words are no longer my words.

They are the writing on the wall.

9/11/98

Excerpt from  The Daimon:



          From her dream, Mother had seen the writing on the wall but she had looked away in fear of becoming what she saw and she accompanied Father to Russia.  Mother had begged Father to stay in America.  She had watched their son, Edgar grow to be a man, take a wife, and have children.  She could see that Edgar was struggling in his relationship with his eldest son.  It reminded her of Father and Edgar.  She saw the shaming passed on and on and it broke her heart.  She felt helpless in both scenarios:  staying and going.  Being a dutiful wife, she went with Father.  She would miss the births of her Great Grandchildren.  Mother’s dark eyes that held mysteries of knowing the future. She foresaw Daddy’s relationship with Elisabeth and although she would not be there to bear witness, she vowed to keep watch from afar.  

         Daddy was not a hugger but he grabbed onto his grandmother and held her tight before Mother got into the car and sat next to Father who had donned a top hat.  Daddy had caught a glimpse from Grandmother’s eyes.  Mother knew what would greet them in Russia.  She had seen it all coming.  A timeline of struggles for the Volga Germans--Father and Mother had escaped from part of the historical devastation--The Bolshevik Revolution followed by Lenin moving the Volga Germans off their farms into collectives.  Famine struck. Now, Stalin awaited them, just as Father thought it was safe to return. Mother knew better.  What could she say to a man who had outlived his life expectancy?  He had lived a full life, yet he felt unfilled.