I feel like I have intruded on something too private and personal to include a stranger like me. I am inclined to slip away and pretend I was never here, but I also want to honor the fact that you wrote this, and I imagine that was a painful and risky choice on your part.
I have three adult children. One is strong and strident, and hasn’t spoken to me in ten years. One is brilliant and happy-go-lucky, and sends me pictures of bungee jumping in New Zealand, skiing in France, and fishing in Belize. My third is fragile and broken. I held her once while she cried, sitting together on the floor for what seemed like hours. I never knew why. I’ve taken her to the ER a number of times for alcohol poisoning. I was two thousand miles away when she was raped, but we talked, and Grace took her home and cared for her. She doesn’t tell me everything, I’m sure, but she tells me what she wants, and she knows I hear her and I love her.
I hope you do, too.