my husband says i talk too much. he is right, but all my other choices are addicting. i like the comic b-movie image of a scruffy cowboy bit by a snake. the other fella helps him out by cutting clean into the wound and swiftly sucking out the venom. he spits and grimaces, spits and grimaces. tragedy averted!

but not real life…
in read life the poison kills or spreads pain; you may or may not have the antidote.

now apply that metaphor to the grief my children feel about the way their brother stole their childhood.

words are not enough