Sustained

When someone I love very much heard the scant details that I am sure about of my childhood pain,

The response was, “You shouldn’t even be here!”

The meaning in that declaration was jarring and simultaneously supportive.

The odds were against me.

Against me graduating from high school.

Against me having loving and lasting relationships.

Never mind a graduate degree, a nearly 40-year marriage and three wonderful adult children.

And never ever been arrested, not even once.

It’s not that I never show evidence of the scars.

It’s not that I never ever walked over the invisible but not imaginary lines

That can alter the course of a life.

It’s that somehow I never got injured,

Perhaps sometimes got caught, in one way or another, and then released,

Avoiding being labeled, stereotyped and stigmatized.

Somehow I got another chance after every misstep.

When I act as the helper,

I never forget that I have seemed to be in a protective bubble,

Allowed to float purposely between my own challenges and others’ challenges.

I don’t know why, I don’t know how.

I just don’t know.

Someone bent the string just enough

And I’ve been sustained.