Quest

Quest – from 1990’s This old poem is written in response to some poetry on here By Brian Anderson. *I thought you may find comfort in knowing someone has been through similar experience and pondered the same questions and had confrontation that you now consider. I stood in his kitchen and begged for apologies. Not sure whether I wanted to forgive or forget again. I just wanted truth, acknowledgement, find a way to be free. He sat at the table looking down at the plate, fingers fumbled. Then lifted his head with a speech of lies and guilt again. I looked out the window at the back yard from childhood. My head kind of spun wildly, in this awful moment. I looked at my stepfather, no-one dared confront and I pled more. It seemed to be failing, until I actually read some writing I did. He abruptly walked to the front hallway of the house. He stared out the window as if death was knocking at the door. The tears began to flow with no eye contact, he said, “I am sorry”. The man so many feared, broke down right in front of me. I asked why he did it and he said, he didn’t know. Then he suddenly started to pace and told me to get out. He shuffled me to the door, “I’m sorry I ruined your life”, he said. Later I heard he told others it was ‘fake’. Told the family, he only said what I wanted to hear. I went back, wanting to be told it was genuine. My quest did not prevail, but I still had the last words he spoke. I didn’t know what a difference they would make in my life. Until the nightmares of him stopped, healing came about, he didn’t rule me. The memories returned to the past, instead of replaying in the present. They were the only words and just a powerful few, but they were enough.