Wat nooit van hem was

Dit gedicht en deze illustratie werden gemaakt door een cliënt.

Met zijn toestemming deel ik ze hier.

Een verhaal over het doorbreken van generationele patronen.

What was never his

The grandfather

spoke little,

never moved an inch.

A rigid man,

a silent house,

a world that would not flinch.

The father

worked with hardened hands

and carried every storm.

The weight of pride,

the endless tide

of anger taking form.

The son

carried blame

and tried to carry

his father’s peace as well.

To keep him whole,

to fill the hole

no words could ever tell.

But long enough

is long enough—

some burdens must be laid.

What was never his he lays aside;

the debt will not be paid.

If pride

is what the father needs,

then let him keep his throne.

For truth and grace

cannot take place

where hearts are carved in stone.

The line will bend,

the storm will end—

the son will break the chain.

The daughter will grow in love,

no shadow passed again.

And in that quiet

letting go,

still learning how to breathe,

the son walks on with open hands

toward his peace.