Ten Step Recovery

Post a note upon the door
That tells the children what to do.
“Please call your Dad to come right home,
And don’t come in the room.”
Now, lock the door.

Try to find the memories
Of laughing in the summer nights,
The times he whispered soft romance,
The times he held your hand.
Now, go to your bathroom.

Feel the tile upon your feet
As cold as ice that chills your heart,
As gray as clouds that blur your mind,
In waves you can’t explain.
Now, fill the tub.

Make the water nice and hot,
To wash away your secret pain.
Add some soap to sting the wounds,
That hide beneath your smile.
Now, remove your clothes.

Peel away the day of grief.
The layers, tailored neat and clean.
Unbutton all the angry words
And toss them to the floor.
Step into the water.

Submerge yourself in vapors pure.
Renew your sense of sanity.
Close your eyes and hold your breath
And slowly fade away.
Now, sink lower under the water.

Listen to the muffled shouts.
A far off rumble, not so loud.
Hear the footfalls, not so sharp,
Growing closer yet.
Slowly rise. Open your eyes.

Look into the face of love.
The smile that always seemed to know
Your deepest pain and understand
And hold you when you fall.
Now, gather your strength and stand.

Into the cold and out of peace
You rise to take another stand.
Into his warm and loving arms
That soothe your weary soul.
Now, begin again.

Step Ten.