Yelling. Hitting. Kicking.
A quick call to 911. Banging on the door, now you're on the run.
Anger between us both, I don't understand.
I'm just a child, now in a foreign land.
We lost touch, I wasn't quite sure why.
The telephone rang occasionally, making me want to cry.
I didn't know, why you weren't around -
You were trying to hide your demons from me, but they grew more profound.
Unaware of how they ate at you, and how the pain was too much to bear.
Round and round, blustery blows,
you quickly spiraled, far out of control.
I saw you on the news, I visited you in jail.
Addiction is a quick way to redefine hell.
I spoke to the police, and your lawyer too.
Both had given up, but not me.
I don't remember, a lot during this time.
Trying to navigate my own life, acting as a mime.
The words never came, I drank it all away.
Later we reconnected,
truths were exchanged and problems no longer deflected.
Labors of love were exchanged, I thought life was better.
I got your phone call, unaware that it was red-letter.
Standing there, being told, that week alone, you had died three separate times.
Turning blue, seizing on the floor, I don't want to remember that, no not anymore.
Through the ordeal, God gave me purpose.
He gave me the vision, of helping others like you.
Many people don't understand or know how,
But God had blessed me with you.
Through all of the chaos, we weathered the storms,
Jesus has been in our corner, since day one.
I say this to those near and far,
Through the eyes of a sister, hope is never too far gone.
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