Everyone always talks about how well mothers know their children. No one ever seems to notice how well children know their mothers.

Today something interesting happened. I died.

Denial: my family heritage. If you don't ask the questions, the truth will never inconvenience you.

Isn't it funny how the people least impacted by tragedy are the most eager to move on?

Everyone always talks about how well mothers know their children. No one ever seems to notice how well children know their mothers.

A child who's been injured by a parent waits her whole life for some acknowledgment of the wrong that's been done, some validation from him that her pain is real, that he's sorry and will make amends. The child will wait forever, unable to move forward, unable to forgive, without someone to acknowledge the past. In that powerlessness comes a terrible rage.

In the end, I cared about him so much that I just thought he deserved someone who loved him more than I did.