mom and dad have separated. it was eleven years in the making, which means nothing in regards to its impact. i have cried plenty: over love that does not put everything on the line, over shame that isolates, over unreciprocated attempts at togetherness.
i am convinced we are all damaged - it is the most unbearable truth of our time. we persist to escape, ignore, and hide it. what use is it to condemn such a human inclination? i, too, have lived out of a trunk of masks. i, too, have impolitely declined vulnerable conversations. brokenness resists exposure. we are all hopeless and damaged. inconsistent and contradictory and lost.
i once thought people could never change, sincerely. 'we are gorged on selfishness.' but over time, i found myself changing - the steadfastness of Others is a balm. so if i can change, then maybe others can. maybe not. it all depends on intentionality, rearranging priorities and training oneself to be good, not only to do good.
eleven years - can you believe it? some years were better than others. i wonder if that has more to do with ignorance and diligent secret keeping. some years were worse, characterized by a distinct pattern of discovery and disappointment, arguments and small changes that never turned into big changes. and here i am - here we are - at the end of it all: damaged, unchanging hearts in conflict still.
i know i said eleven years but could it be that it was two lifetimes in the making? could it be that it was the lifetimes of my grandparents and all those lives that touched and harmed and beat relentlessly on mom and dad? our personal histories are complex and layered. and doesn't it take a lifetime to unravel it all? and even at death isn't there still brokenness? aren't things still unresolved? and if we are still in such conflict at death, what does this all amount to?
