The Transformative Power of Forgiveness
"Bobby, she never even held her when she was a baby," I overheard my father's sister say to him one night. They were outside on my aunt's deck, drinking and catching up late into the night, after over a year of not seeing each other. They thought I had fallen asleep, but I laid awake in the guest bed, listening to them reminisce about when my father was still married to my mother. I tried not to eavesdrop, but they were revealing answers to questions I had most of my life. No one ever told me why my parents split not long after I was born. In fact, neither of them ever mentioned the divorce and rarely mentioned the other. Despite the rupture to life as I knew it and the jolting accumulation of two different homes, they acted as though everything was normal.
Her mother was a fiery red, From her heart to head. Her father, a melancholy blue, Through and through. They fought like Sleeping Beauty's guardians,