Who Am I?
For the first time in 15 years my mom saw my face clearly today. You see part of being a diabetic for as long as she was in the past, took most of her eyesight. Thankfully and by some act of whatever god, her surgery was a complete success. I had to hold myself back from letting the tears gush from my face. I thought I would always remain but a recognizable fuzzy blob to her. She first lost her sight when a retina in her right eye detached itself. It then got worse when she developed blod clots from the diabetes in her left eye. For many many years I was but a blurred image to my own mother. I listened to her talk about seeing the most inane things for the first time in forever with such joy. You might not understand, but to see her smile when talking about fucking FLOOR tiles for fucks sake. It's the little things you appreciate most when you've been without them. Even if they are something you walk on everyday. My mother can see my art, my mother can see me, my mother can see life as she once did. Why.. why is it that the more she gains, the more I feel lost, despite my joy. I have been accustomed to these things for so long, now that the impossible is possible.. I don't know what to think anymore.
In 2005 I was certain my mother was going to die. She nearly did. They gave her back her life, albeit at a compromised immune system. It's still there. Last year, they started to give her back her face, all the years of bloating from water retention from her bad kidneys, made her look nearly 3 decades older than she was. She finally looks her age, and thats what we wanted.. But now, .... ... now she can see. Is this equivalent exchange? I lost my father, I lost my stepfather, and in time, I regained my mother for what she was before her illness nearly took her away. Such a cruel and fortunate way life works. Im happy, I am in constant disbelief.. but I am happy.
But I am also lost. In spite of this good news, more news come. More unsettling news. I dont know as much as I did about my pops as I thought I did. Born in Canada, maybe. Grandma Webb, wasn't his mother. My last name is Burkett, my dads last name is burkett.. His fathers last name is Seigworth, his mothers, Webb.. his brothers, Vaughn. I didnt know this before. My dad left that mystery to everyone. Where does my last name come from? Where did he get it? If Webb wasnt my grandmother.. who is? is Grandpa Seigworth really my grandpa? Am I really russian? Am I really canadian? I dont know.. I know who I am NOW. But I dont know where I come from.. Some of us never do. But I feel a longing to fill that void with knowledge. I may never know my true last name. I may never know my dads true story. All I know is I came from a brilliant man, that I only lived to see for so long in his life. Im going to save up for a DNA test, to see where my ethnics lie. Even if I cant get the family history straight, I can at least take something out of knowing where my blood lies.
I know who I am... but who am I?
In 2005 I was certain my mother was going to die. She nearly did. They gave her back her life, albeit at a compromised immune system. It's still there. Last year, they started to give her back her face, all the years of bloating from water retention from her bad kidneys, made her look nearly 3 decades older than she was. She finally looks her age, and thats what we wanted.. But now, .... ... now she can see. Is this equivalent exchange? I lost my father, I lost my stepfather, and in time, I regained my mother for what she was before her illness nearly took her away. Such a cruel and fortunate way life works. Im happy, I am in constant disbelief.. but I am happy.
But I am also lost. In spite of this good news, more news come. More unsettling news. I dont know as much as I did about my pops as I thought I did. Born in Canada, maybe. Grandma Webb, wasn't his mother. My last name is Burkett, my dads last name is burkett.. His fathers last name is Seigworth, his mothers, Webb.. his brothers, Vaughn. I didnt know this before. My dad left that mystery to everyone. Where does my last name come from? Where did he get it? If Webb wasnt my grandmother.. who is? is Grandpa Seigworth really my grandpa? Am I really russian? Am I really canadian? I dont know.. I know who I am NOW. But I dont know where I come from.. Some of us never do. But I feel a longing to fill that void with knowledge. I may never know my true last name. I may never know my dads true story. All I know is I came from a brilliant man, that I only lived to see for so long in his life. Im going to save up for a DNA test, to see where my ethnics lie. Even if I cant get the family history straight, I can at least take something out of knowing where my blood lies.
I know who I am... but who am I?