There is a point in the cycle of loss when people come up for air. The tragedy at the heart of the universe is still there but there is the small hope that words may matter, when so much has been lost.
I tell one child to look up reactive attachment disorder and describe to the other the symptoms of borderline personality disorder.
I am leery of words. How do you describe the damage to a baby or a child of rootlessness and hunger and a world of cold loneliness punctuated by chaos and violence?
I hate what he did to the point of wishing with all my heart that I could unspool his childhood to the day he was born and undo the damage, hold and feed the wee baby to prevent the hours and days and years of pain he will inflict on others.
He has inflicted on us.
Only God can breathe life into the dead.
Carrying Light 