Little Giants...
I look back at my life, and I see so much. I see heartbreak, and loneliness. I see sorrow, and loss. It’s not often that I allow myself to look back because of those very things. What good comes from dwelling on things long forgotten? From letting ourselves tread that path of hurt.
I remember being small. From the moment I was “born”, I felt small. Insignificant. I stood on the shoulders of giants, marveling at their wonder, at their majesty.
My giant was so small. So timid. Those around her glared and snarled, stamping her spirit down and down into a little wooden box, imagining that she would never leave. My little giant carried that box, always tucked close to her heart. But that little spirit shined still. Brilliant, dazzling light seeped through the cracks of the box containing it. I would slide down off her shoulder, sitting atop that box and basking in its warmth, smiling up at the giant who carried my small and frail form.
She smiled back at me, thinking I was so grand. So strong. How could she, someone ten times grander than me, truly think that I had any idea at all? But I never let her see me stumble. Never let her see me fall. I stood tall and silent on her shoulder, as if standing to guard her from all the evil in the world, though it not a single time helped.
I stood atop the lid of the box, keeping it held down, keeping it safe. It’s what she wanted. She clung tightly to it, afraid to let anyone see, afraid to just be.
As she grew, she broke through. The wood tattered and wore, fading and chipping away. That one little spirit began to bubble and grow, shifting in sporadic, jarring hues. Everything she felt made it flare. Sometimes it was white, sometimes a brilliant blue, sometimes puffing up huge. The intensity of its colors, the ever shifting form, she never knew what to do. She would cover it up, try to dampen its hues. Substance after substance, the only thing to keep it subdued.
I sat on her shoulder, watching things change, taking my own little box and hiding it away. I opened it selectively, letting it shine, acting as if I had perfect control of mine. I let through the good, hiding away the bad, never really showing when I was sad. My feelings mattered not, my box remained locked, all that I wanted was to be her rock.
It was difficult at times, always stuck watching on the sidelines. But all that has changed. All this is new. Her once solid box now only a plank or two. She does her best to tend to her spirit, to make things right. “Okay, okay, you can help me, alright? Help me tame this thing, I can’t do it alone. Please. I can’t ruin this home.”
I hear her beg, I hear her plead, and something inside me cries “Finally!
I do tend to myself, I swear to you I do, but right now what matters is me tending to you.”
It’s comforting, you see, to have a hand in things. I know it’s not perfect. There are fears that she has. She worries too much, about every little thing. “Is this okay? Am I even still me?”
I want to hug her. To wrap her up tight. I want to help her, to let her know that this is right. Let me be here, let me be by your side. Let me tend to all the areas you can’t handle in life.
I look at my giant, who still seems so small. I stand no longer on her shoulder, but rather at her side. We’ll move through this together, one step at a time, and I’ll always be here should you need time. Just…be patient with me, if at times even I need to cry.