My daughter does not touch me any more.
She used to come and kiss me every night,
And sometimes she would sit on my lap for a while,
But she has not even touched me for so long now …
I know she still loves me.
She shows it in so many little ways
That make me happy,
But she does not touch me …
She seldom tells me the truth,
(And that hurts me,
Though I try not to let her see)
But I know the reason for that …
It is because she loves me.
She thinks I need to be protected
From the pain of knowing her pain.
(I, who should be her protector … )
She is mistaken:
But I understand her motive
And I love her the more for it,
But my daughter does not touch me any more …
I think sometimes she wants to,
But the years of disuse have created
An insurmountable barrier
For us both …
We want it to be
Like it is in the movies,
But it is not.
This is real life …
There is no ‘golden opportunity’
To make it right again.
Neither of us can go back,
Nor can we un-live the past …
It is done, and cannot be undone,
Even though neither of us is to blame
For whatever happened then.
(Whatever did happen then?)
There is, in me,
A certain hollow,
Which can only be filled
By my daughter’s touch …
I believe there is, in her,
(Though she may deny this)
A corresponding hollow,
Which only my touch can fill …
The problem is,
Because she does not touch me,
I am debarred from touching her,
And so both our needs remain unfulfilled …
As the time has passed,
That hollow has grown into a hole,
And the hole has grown into a deep chasm,
Because she des not touch me …
And the chasm has grown,
Until now it is a cosmic void.
A vast emptiness,
Contained within me … and her …
Where the howling tempest of loneliness
Scours our souls of all human comfort,
Because my daughter does not touch me …
(This was written some years ago, during the teen years.
When her own daughter was born, she came back to me!
Perhaps Hollywood's not so silly ... )