hendelar

sometimes you just gotta' row

when you see you

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She treats strangers with shaky reverence that seems more fearful than respectful. Her relationships with family and friends inevitably become contaminated with inexplicable disdain, surging to disgust when the wind is favorable.

To leave passage doors ajar, to the places where compassion and caring live, is to invite snakebite. Yes, things do change irrevocably in the space of a heartbeat and there are others that remain as they have been for five decades.

Ugliness victimizes everyone; so sure, blame is mis-aimed and mostly moot, it’s a zero-sum game. The consequences of history have left her bitter, vindictive and, too often, plain nasty. It’s as if access to her humanness has been boarded shut and wrapped in crime-scene tape. There are better platforms for parenthood.

Okay, so regret doesn’t float but forgiveness eventually will and revenge, well, it’ll drag you on an uncharted bump, black-deep into a mapless mire. Got it.

Beyond intellectual reasoning, parents are inherently empowered more by their relative position than virtue. Children are born in the shape of a question mark and seek out the guide before they even begin the tour. It is a huge responsibility with brutal consequences when a mismatch occurs.

A kid can spend a lifetime in a state of pending, anticipating the answer that will never come…can never come, because it’s buried below the shutters. If the question is about the nature of love, well, we’re gonna’ have a problem, chronic and acute. A portrait without a canvas is just a mess of nice colors.

So many miles and too many hearts and, sweet mother of irony, I think I’m beginning to get it. She dragged me through the chapters of her drama like an unfortunate lap dog for her benefit. Our history is replete with several unselected options that could, ought to, have been made if the kid’s well-being was the primary goal.

Sure, I’ll help her through her widowhood, navigating the administrative rattle and staggering through the grieving minefield, but this deal lacks the currency to fund anything noble like purpose of principle. It might resemble doing the right thing, but catharsis has become the main objective of stick-stepping through the ooze of this strange and familiar place; for me and, I desperately hope, for mine.

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Written by glh

December 5, 2011 at 16:49

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