Sometimes the answers aren’t the answers we want, nor does discovery always produce a satisfying conclusion. Sometimes what is is what is and what’s most important is to accept that people are fallible creatures dealing with their own trying circumstances and inner demons.
Unlike my older siblings, I have no memory of my parents together. Their break, long in the making, occurred when I was two years-old. I assume they spoke later, for the three children were often passed back-and-forth, I the youngest by many years. On the other hand, those transfers were ofttimes accomplished via bus or a scramble to a waiting vehicle, our possessions in tow. Those exchanges later included me alone.
Between my mother’s later rocky marriages there were the quieter times, times spent sitting up late on the weekends to catch old mysteries, nights when I’d brush her thick, dark hair. I envied her that, though later in her life she began lightening it. There were even times during those years when her guard slipped and she exposed her frequently stifled sense-of-humor. Even as a child there were shadows within me, but there was one particular shadow I couldn’t understand, for that knowledge was hers and not mine…
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