Swimming in Darkness
Dee Thompson is an Atlanta-based writer. She is the author of Adopting Alesia: My Crusade for my Russian Daughter, and the children's book Jack's New Family. She also writes a popular blog, The Crab Chronicles.
Her story is remarkable and this poem gives the reader glimpses of it that are deeply affecting. Linger on the images and marvel at the resilience of the human spirit, particularly in the presence of abiding love and devotion.
Swimming in Darkness
By Dee Thompson
My daughter just became eighteen,
—Eighteen in body, much younger in heart.
Trapped in her lonely, bloody past,
together we swim down
to the dark.
On the other side of the world
they starved and hit my girl.
Abandoned as a tiny six-year-old, she didn't cry,
But built walls—strong and high,
to hold her grief and abusers at bay.
The hitters got in anyway.
How do you find peace in a place full of danger?
No mama's arms, no affection from a stranger,
for they saw not a precious little girl, but a throwaway.
Years later, when I trip into her space she lashes out quickly,
words slapped in my face.
Her fortress walls at times repel us all,
even those who swim with her into the dark blurred yesterday.
I want to hold her and love all the hurt away.
So we visit, over and over, the office with the soft pillows and tissues,
the therapist's accented voice
helping uncover and recover, bit by bit, with tender care.
One day, I pray, she can process the pain,
leave it where it can't undermine,
so when she hears "I love you,"
she will believe it.
Her story is remarkable and this poem gives the reader glimpses of it that are deeply affecting. Linger on the images and marvel at the resilience of the human spirit, particularly in the presence of abiding love and devotion.
Swimming in Darkness
By Dee Thompson
My daughter just became eighteen,
—Eighteen in body, much younger in heart.
Trapped in her lonely, bloody past,
together we swim down
to the dark.
On the other side of the world
they starved and hit my girl.
Abandoned as a tiny six-year-old, she didn't cry,
But built walls—strong and high,
to hold her grief and abusers at bay.
The hitters got in anyway.
How do you find peace in a place full of danger?
No mama's arms, no affection from a stranger,
for they saw not a precious little girl, but a throwaway.
Years later, when I trip into her space she lashes out quickly,
words slapped in my face.
Her fortress walls at times repel us all,
even those who swim with her into the dark blurred yesterday.
I want to hold her and love all the hurt away.
So we visit, over and over, the office with the soft pillows and tissues,
the therapist's accented voice
helping uncover and recover, bit by bit, with tender care.
One day, I pray, she can process the pain,
leave it where it can't undermine,
so when she hears "I love you,"
she will believe it.
This brought tears to my eyes when I read it this morning. Amazingly touching!
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So terribly sad, especially the last two lines. Beautifully told by one who truly cares.
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