This buzzword has been humming in my life for some time now, as distinct as the chimes of St. Peter’s church, proverbially present; soberingly familiar.  I sit in his office, frozen mid motion and thought, as my heart beat protracts to an audible thumping.  “This is it,” I realize in the elasticized minutes.  “I am in the belly of this beast.”  Codependency.  The obscurity of the word has eluded my most arrowed thoughts and understandings.  I have come up against this invisible, stealthy nemesis who has pummeled my dreams and souls dance…relentlessly, mercilessly, since almost forever. 

 

The lingering image of the little girl watching out the window of the brown and yellow townhome for her father, whose presence had lapsed in frequency and depth as time paced on, wanders amongst the hallways of my recollections.  Somedays I catch a glimpse of her still sitting there, watching for him.

 

I sat in the cushy chair and asked my counselor, “Do you mean I have spent all of my adult life looking for some skewed version of my father’s love?”  I framed this with equal parts sarcasm, absurdity and wakefulness.  “Yes”…he squarely answered.

 

That is, I paused, perfectly tragic. 

 

The invisible materialized in that next moment.  The ambiguous, the illusive…the; my…codependent self.  An uncontrollable stream of tears burst from the ducts of my eyes.

 

 “Oh my God…how fucking tragic.”  I have been pouring all my life, my soul, down black holes of men In the hopes that they would love me, and not…not abandon me.  “How fucking tragic.  I have wasted all that time, all that life.” 

 

She came slowly into a clear focus…the bright eyed, beautiful girl watching through the window; awaiting the arrival of her dad.  Believing he was coming.  Waiting; willing for his presence…always. 

 

My head tilted as I shared in her encumbered silence.  I reached out my hand to touch her back.  She was motionless.  I brushed my palm against her back…and she slowly turned her face to mine.  Her eyes wide with anticipation, hopes and innocence.  I smiled at her, reached out and closed her delicate little fingers in my hands.  Tears filling my eyes and choking in my chest.  “He’s…”  I began, “Sweetie…he’s never coming.  Never coming.” 

 

She stared perplexed into my eyes.   She grew agitated and began screaming, insisting that I was wrong…that he had to come, that he was supposed to come, that she needed him to come.

 

“I know.  I know,” I concurred.  But… he never, never will come sweetie, and I’m so sorry for that.  But he never, never will.” 

 

 

Crying now, she climbed gingerly into my lap.  I wrapped my arms around her and brushed my hands through her hair. 

 

“I will always be here for you, “I whisper.  “Right here, with you…always.”