There are a lot of intersections in your history and my history. Our mothers are not among these (mine wasn't perfect, but boy did she try). For most of my childhood we lived in what was virtually a shack. Broken floors. Broken furniture. The attic apartment was a step up. It was respectable though though humble. We made that advance by fleeing (literally) from my father. So many secrets😄. At one point, I freed myself from the secrets and started writing. It was quite a relief. All those things that happened--my shack, your mother--these weren't our fault. We both seem to have let that past go. Liberating, isn't it?
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It's like the line from My Way..'and now as tears subside, I find it all so amusing'. Who could have imagined we could laugh at what once seemed such a tragedy?
🦉⏰