What Daddy Took Part 2

I was only four years old.

My brother was five.

Too young to understand death… but old enough to know

Mama might not survive.

Daddy… Why did you teach us pain before we ever learned what

love was supposed to be?

{fragile spoken-word intro, sparse Rhodes keys} I was four years old,

my brother by my side.

Watching Daddy beat our mother,

hearing Mama scream and cry.

He forced her head beneath the water,

held her down so she couldn’t breathe.

My brother cried, “Daddy,

stop!” I screamed, “Let my mama free!” But rage had closed his

ears that night. He couldn’t hear our cries.

Two babies standing helpless,

watching terror fill her eyes.

He wasn’t thinking of the memories that would follow us through life.

He was on a mission to destroy her right before our frightened

eyes.

{soft sub-bass enters, slow sparse percussion} Did you see the tears running

down our faces? Did you hear God whisper,

“Son, stop this now”?

Because we were only babies,

Daddy… And we needed you to show us how to love.

{vocal swells, strings rising gently} Daddy,

why’d you show us pain before you showed us love?

Why’d you fill our childhood memories with fear we couldn’t outrun?

You hurt Mama,

but you wounded us too.

And all these years later,

I’m still trying to understand you.

Daddy, what you took that night was more than childhood innocence.

You left us carrying questions,

fear, and brokenness.

But I made myself a promise your darkness ends with me.

My children will know love… They’ll never learn it the way you

taught it to me.

{rhythm section fully drops in,

emotional belt} I remember Mama battered,

bruised and mostly scared.

Realizing the man she once loved might really end her life right

there. She survived that night,

but survival has a price.

Some wounds keep bleeding silently long after you save a life.

Mama never truly escaped the pain.

She carried it deep inside.

Maybe she was trying to love her children while learning how to

survive.

And we looked so much like Daddy… Maybe that hurt her too.

Trying to love pieces of the children who carried pieces of you.

{tempo holds steady, drums step back slightly} There were days the sadness

got so heavy I didn’t want to feel anymore.

Days depression whispered that maybe I should close the door.

But somewhere underneath the darkness was that little four-year-old girl… Still crying

for her mama, still trying to understand the world.

And I told her: Baby,

we survived. Mama survived.

And we’re going to make sure our babies know another kind of

life. I won’t hand my children the pain that was handed down

to me. This family will learn tenderness.

This family will learn safety.

This family will learn love.

{piano and exposed vocal building to a crescendo}

Daddy, you showed me pain… But pain won’t be my legacy.

You showed me fear… But fear won’t raise my family.

I love my children with everything inside of me.

I hold them close.

I tell them they’re loved.

I give them what I needed to receive.

What you took from that little girl,

I spent years trying to reclaim.

But I found strength inside the scars.

I found purpose in the pain.

Daddy, I remember what you took… But look what I chose to

give: Love to my children.

Peace to my family.

And a reason to live.

{maximum intensity, full choir-style backing vocals} I was four years old.

My brother was five.

We saw something no child should ever see.

But Daddy… Your pain doesn’t get the final word.

My children will know love.

And maybe…

by loving them

the way I needed to be loved… I’m finally loving

that little girl

in me.

{music fades to quiet

solo piano and breathy

vocals}