Sometimes I feel so defeated as a mother. Are we allowed to speak this truth? Child of my own flesh and blood, yet she remains a mystery to me. I try to build strong walls to keep her from turning to the right or to the left, but I am reminded of my human frailty.
Memory is a strange thing for the traumatized mind. Some memories are nothing more than apparitions of smell, emotion, and touch; try as I might to put flesh on these ghosts, they remain as formless as mist rising in the morning. Other memories are clear on the big picture yet lack details. I remember his [...]