[stylist] Writing exercise: Life Story

[loristay at aol.com]

I have to agree.  This is wonderful, Bridgit.
Lori



-----Original Message-----
From: Barbara Hammel <poetlori8 at msn.com>
To: Writer's Division Mailing List <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Sun, Apr 1, 2012 10:45 pm
Subject: Re: [stylist] Writing exercise: Life Story


Once again, Bridgit, you've outdone yourself in this piece.  You write with 
so much emotion that my heart can barely hold it.  I love your writing, but 
wow! is it intense.  Then again, the life you've lived sounds like it was 
very intense.
Keep up the good work.
Barbara




Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. -- Carl Sandburg
-----Original Message----- 
From: Bridgit Pollpeter
Sent: Sunday, April 01, 2012 5:00 PM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
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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