I am relieved to find, in the middle of my grief, that this wound is cleaner because I didn’t insist that he save me out of it.
I’m glad for the good times and the homemaking skills, the little songs she sang us, the silliness and the ethics. Her years of patience.
She is carrying one item. “Good luck, people,” she says, just loudly enough to be heard, but quietly enough to be ignored. “There is not much in there.”
I too have turned my child over to hard things, and I too have let him cry into his pillow, and sometimes I hate myself for that.
He speaks truth about his walk with God and who he is
Before the water, the cool and healing water, runs down his hair and splashes on the floor.
When a beautiful woman in her sixties, with a serene face and an artistic hand, sits beside you at the craft table and asks to hear your story, you do not refuse. Nor do you refuse when a fun-loving stranger offers to do a coconut-oil-honey-and-cocoa-powder facial with you, and all the supplies are laid out. […]