[stylist] Writing exercise: Life Story

[PAUL BAVER]

Hi Bridget, I find this exercise of yours, a deep, and soulful writing, 
filled with a lifetime of pain, joy, and a determination for survival, 
topped off with the joy of Love. Congratulations, so few find that precious 
gift. Paul E Baver
----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Bridgit Pollpeter" <bpollpeter at hotmail.com>
To: <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Sunday, April 01, 2012 6:00 PM
Subject: [stylist] Writing exercise: Life Story


>I wrote this a year ago for a prompt about your life story in less than
> two pages. We were encouraged to be creative and find our unique voice
> while addressing something about our lives.
>
> I briefly address some issues in this exercise that I have yet to take
> on in my writing other than alluding to it.
>
> I fell from grace the day I was born.  August 22, 1981 was a regular
> midsummer day for millions except Bruce and Tami Kuenning.  Six-months
> into a rocky marriage was not enough time to cope with the news of an
> impending pregnancy.
>
>
>
> Birth, for many, is a joyous time to be celebrated, but for Bruce and
> Tami, my birth was filled with dread and fear.  No images of a woman
> rocking gently as she knitted a pair of pink booties, no husband
> lovingly caressing the belly of his beloved.  Their bleak world brought
> horrors of firm hands clasped around the thin, pale neck of a woman not
> yet in possession of her own worth.  Love was a distant memory for Tami
> as she stared into the wild, blue eyes of Bruce as he pointed a shotgun
> at her protruding stomach.  Their crazed union created a child not meant
> for this world.
>
>
>
> The angels cooed at the babe not yet corporeal.  Their tears washed the
> ethereal grime away leaving a ruddy all-to-human bundle that laughed and
> cried, grasping at air.  Knowing the fate the child would be left too,
> they embraced the baby in strength and courage.  Placing kisses on the
> child's forehead, they removed the final layer of spirit and watched as
> the baby sank slowly beneath their glowing feet, out of arms reach.
>
>
>
> And so I fell from grace, screaming for the home I would not find for
> many years to come.  Awakened by breath only to forget warmth.  Smiling
> pictures of a baby girl crawling, looking bright-eyed into the camera,
> offer a misrepresentation of my childhood.  Where was the camera to
> capture my tears and heartache?
>
>
>
> I learned to escape reality.  I learned to numb myself and forsake all
> human contact.  I endured, and I embraced my existence until I found my
> true home once again.
>
>
>
> Like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, I was wakened with a kiss.  Until
> this point, I would have taken the poisonous apple just to feel, but I
> found something much sweeter.  A hand never raised to cause harm, but to
> softly touch.  A touch that caused fire and ice.  Lips that never
> bespoke abrasive words of anger and pain, but kissed to soothe.  Kisses
> ignited a passion.  A man never intent on hate and grief, but only
> kindness.  A man who drew the long slumbering spirit from my depths.  On
> February 22, 2005, I found grace once again.
>
>
>
> My feet have finally touched this world.  No longer do I hover in limbo,
> stuck between two existences.  I see with clarity, and I dare to feel to
> the depths of my soul.  A true marriage constructed from love and
> friendship has given me my happily ever-after.
>
>
>
> Twenty-nine-years ago a man and a woman could not see beyond their own
> misery, but now they have a second chance in their first-born child.
> Containing all that is good in them, I am the product of their chaos,
> and I can give absolution.  I rest in my home now, knowing love is mine
> to give.  Weather-beaten and old, I am beautiful, and I find beauty with
> the clarity of angels.
>
>
> Sincerely,
> Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter
> Read my blog at:
> <http://blogs.livewellnebraska.com/author/bpollpeter/>
> http://blogs.livewellnebraska.com/author/bpollpeter/
>
> "History is not what happened; history is what was written down."
> The Expected One- Kathleen McGowan
>
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