No woman should be treated like a piece of meat ripe for the plucking by a man to fulfill his sexual desires. Darling boy, would you want someone to treat your mother like that? How about your sister or aunt? I hope your answer will be NO, so that when you see other men doing this, you'll be able to confront them, telling them that it is never okay for them to do that to someone else's mother, wife, sister, aunt, or daughter.
Regardless of whether or not we understand why you did what you did, we are healing. As part of our healing, the kids and I talk about you every day. You probably know that.
Find moments of forgiveness. Driving home one day, feel an overwhelming sense of guilt for no reason. Clouds are parting after a summer rainstorm. There’s a double rainbow, brighter than anything you’ve ever seen.
We don’t realize the extent of their loss until we compare it to the after pictures: sisters spoon-feeding that same brother; holding him up because he can’t sit on his own; pushing him in his chair.
When I look for the helpers in this Ebola crisis, I see that they are dying. These women in Africa - their death could have been mine; tears fall for them too. And I am left to wonder, where would Mr. Rogers tell us to turn when looking for the helpers no longer brings comfort?
Would you like to give your baby a name or we can simply call it baby X?
All of these questions were impossible and horrible and unanswerable but somehow I stumbled through them. No, thank you, I don’t want to see her. Yes, ashes, please. Baby X is fine.
These people I have loved have not come into my life often. I know that I can never predict what will come of my time with them but I can choose to give of myself. I can open myself and expose my brokenness. I can choose to not hide.
Why does she stay? Because until she finds the strength to do anything else, it's all she can do.
And even if she finally musters the will to leave, she may very well go back at some point. For all the same reasons.
Here is my guilt: not that I let my mother eat, but that I didn't feed her better. I wish we'd sat in more French restaurants. I wish I'd brought good wine. I wish her pleasure had been my passion. I wish I had only said yes.
While revising my memories doesn't change what happened, a new scene plays in my head now. I could see why I was so afraid before, but I can also see a way to be less afraid in the future. Toughing it out doesn’t have to be the only way.
If we don't stay stuck in pain and grief and regret we can move forward. It didn’t mean that I would ever forget. Living isn’t forgetting. It is the exact opposite. It is an honoring.
