Whisper Me Daughter

There's nothing worse in the world than to be unwanted and unloved by one's parents—except being scourged, humiliated, and hurled into darkness, damning our years from the very beginning. The blackness of blankets, boards, and drapes hammered over window panes was meant to shut out the sunlight, obscuring us from peering out into the world as we remained hidden, hollering and hurting inside, undiscovered.

Father had no interest beyond the walls of our foreboding home, and though Mother traipsed in and out of our days, smelling of sweet perfumes wafting of foods we had never seen or eaten, they were both the makers of the dread. Our nursery years buried us beneath a wretched horde, haunted by rats, roaches, and the incessant whines of our younger siblings, often hiding in the rubbish. Most days, it was simpler to search, hush, and hide with them whenever Mother's torturous temper flared.

Father, an orange ember glowing in the darkened distance of those days, was either a beacon or a burning lure to us as we scurried out from the dung heaps, daring for deliverance. I soon learned that endurance without crying was what soothed Mother's rage—tears and wailing only made her rampages worse. She would bash my head into the walls and smile to discover that I had been biting my mouth shut, just as she had commanded. And that made her smile.

And so it had become a painful challenge trying to earn Mother's love. Even a chilling grin was kinder than the cruel glares accompanied by hateful words of the grief my existence caused her. I didn't like thinking that I was the reason for my mother's miseries. I mean, even Frankenstein yearned for the kindness and acceptance of his maker, at least in the tale I've been told.

I suppose if I had to liken myself to any infamous character, it would be precisely that pitiful, tormented creature strewn together out of madness. He was given to breathe a life doomed, a hideously sad soul, a disappointment shunned and abused by his creator.

In all of the miserable years governed by the shadow masters who were our parents, my yearning to be loved had been stronger than all of the afflictions and griefs we endured. Now, as I returned to those haunting years, breaking the barriers that once hid us away from the world, I hear the echoes of threats forbidding me to breathe words of truth. Guided by the hand of God, whose love for me is more powerful than all the dark, sorted secrets and sins, past and present, I am fearless, as Jesus whispers me daughter.