The key
was hiding around my neck
up against my heart.
I always believed my spirit was broken
and that you had broken me.
As a child,
as a teenager,
relentlessly.
The evidence was in my fear.
It was in my despair.
It was in my loneliness.
There was something resting against me
I couldn’t yet fully understand.
The key
was hiding around my neck
up against my heart.
When you died suddenly
I was in shock.
I was numb.
I was depressed.
For months I felt
like I was losing my mind.
Now you could never tell me
you loved me.
That you understood
how much you had hurt me.
Never tell me you were sorry.
The key
was hiding around my neck
up against my heart.
I had a strong feeling you had taken
something from me.
I felt anger, fear and anxiety,
but didn’t understand why.
My body started breaking.
Believing I was broken,
believing I was always two steps behind
an imagined whole self,
running,
trying to catch up,
I pushed myself too hard
because I had something to prove.
The key
was hiding around my neck
up against my heart.
From there I made progress.
I recognized my own vulnerability.
I let go of the raw emotional pain.
I could forgive you.
I realized I have always loved you,
always needed your love.
That’s why you could hurt me so much.
I was able to see you
as someone who was also suffering.
A father with a hurt inner child.
A father with psychological problems.
I could see you as a teacher.
Your lessons were painful
but there’s wisdom in them.
The key
was hiding around my neck
up against my heart.
The most important lesson
you taught is that
what others believe is secondary.
What matters most
is what I believe
and that I trust myself.
Learn to act on my own intuition.
I realize this lesson
has been a theme in my life.
Is that a key
hiding around my neck
up against my heart?
Its chain brushes against my skin
like a question.
I had gathered the right pieces
but hadn't yet connected them.
They were waiting for a spark.
The breaking open was a thought.
Do our life experiences
reflect our beliefs about ourselves?
Do our beliefs about ourselves
reflect our life experiences?
If so, what drives my experiences?
It came to me almost immediately:
my belief that I'm broken.
Tears wetted my face
in recognition of the truth.
Then came a quiet defiance:
Am I really broken?
It felt like a dangerous thought.
Like I was done editing the script
and ready to burn it whole.
(Too late, the thought is loose.)
The key
is hanging around my neck
up against my heart!
I understood for the first time
what you took from me.
I believed my psyche
was permanently damaged.
But I also believed
that if you recognized
my suffering and were sorry,
you could make me whole again.
This was my dream,
my imagined sunshine.
All my life I believed you were my key.
When you died suddenly,
my hope of healing died with you.
It has taken me eleven years
to understand why your death
shocked me to my core.
It has taken me my whole life to realize
I was never broken.
I had the key all along.
I take the key
hanging around my neck
up against my heart.
Its chain dangles down free
from my palm.
The pleasant warmth
of the golden key
a healing balm against my skin.
I close my eyes
and take a deep breath.
I face you,
my key shining like the sun
whose warmth I had yearned for
my whole life.
I am the key.
No one hurts me without my consent.
I revoke your right to break me.
I reject your view of me that I’m broken.
I reject my view of myself that I’m broken.
You have no more power over me.
I was never broken.
You are the one who was hurt.
You are the one who reflected this onto me.
It was never my inferiority.
It was never my desperation.
It was never my loneliness.
It was always yours.
He nods.
I know how you feel.
I felt it my entire life.
I’m sorry you suffered.
I forgive you.
I love you.
But I’m giving your chain
back to you.
It’s not mine.
He accepts the chain
with outstretched hand,
studies it for a moment,
and smiles.
As he turns and walks away
he lets it slip,
his hand free to discover that
the key
is hiding around his neck
up against his heart.
This poem is part of a chapbook I’m gathering about my father, a nonlinear, constellation‑shaped collection from a 9-year time span in which love holds every part in radical acceptance.
✿ Vintage key resting on antique books by Galina Ortlieb via Pexels.