©Cindy Lever Photography
“…..I began to remember things which were suppressed for years. I remembered so much I thought my head would explode.
My entire foundation about what I thought possible was shaken. . . I was shocked awake.
How am I still here? What were the KEYS to my survival?
I held a strong faith in something greater than myself. I told GOD everything. And I PRAYED a lot.
I had a solid early family foundation. Looking back on the many positive things in my life helped me regain my bearings.
One of the most powerful KEYS to my overcoming was FORGIVENESS.I discovered that forgiving breaks the controllers’ grip. [PAUSE]
I often return to a poem my mother wrote for me when I graduated from high school. It was a PROPHETIC word spoken into my life when I was 17. This is my poem. The one my mother wrote for me. It is appropriately titled:
FOR MY DAUGHTER ON HER GRADUATION
FROM HIGH SCHOOL
“Woman-child, you stand in a hall of doors. None of them have been opened for you, but you have been given the keys.
Behind one door there is heart bursting joy. You may open that door only on occasion and I cannot predict when those occasions will be.
Behind another door there is a glass marked ‘small pleasures and contentment’. Open frequently and drink deeply.
Yet another door reveals a pillow soaked with tears. My love, you must open that door too. May God grant not too often.
A door marked ‘worry, discouragement and fear’ will sometimes swing open of its own accord. You have the power within you to close it quickly and move on.
There is another door. Standing outside you hear laughter, lovers murmuring, music, the cry of a new born babe, the death rattles of the old. It is irresistible. You must go in.
It is filled with sound and light and color, new people, new places, new loves. Things to learn, to do, to see. It vibrates, swarms and sometimes overwhelms.
It is the great room, all others are anterooms.
And sometimes, when it becomes too much for you, if you look carefully, you will see a dusty corner and a small door.
This is the door to memories, old friends, beloved books and poems, childhood fancies.
It is quiet here. There is the not unpleasant smell of an old attic on a rainy day.
Dimly seen in the corner there is an old trunk. Lift the lid and you will see a small package. The contents seem to be straining against the brightly colored bindings.
Open it, I give it freely.
It is my heart.
Love, Mother”
And this is my heart. Many of my Radio friends didn’t make it out alive. Some were decommissioned before they found out how they’d been used. Others vanished. Some were so disabled they were never again able to function in mainstream society. And some had their reputations so destroyed that no one would ever believe them. They never got to tell their stories……”
Latless Susan
