The guilt is strong in my family, uncontrollable, used like a switch but cutting so much deeper. Crocodile tears flowed, and I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so low.
The whole event lasted no more than 20 minutes. I fear, as would any parent, that it may last a lifetime in their memories. Something for which I will be paying their therapist and mine for years to come.
But at home we sat on the couch together. They nuzzled up close, unafraid of the big scary monster, a child on each side in the crooks of my arms. They fit perfectly in there, like we were all designed to fit together. Tears streamed down my face now, and I summoned an apology from somewhere deep inside my soul. They looked at me with enormous, forgiving blue eyes and told me it was OK. They smiled and, like the Grinch, my heart grew three sizes. It was perhaps the most grown-up conversation I’ve ever had.
