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My older brother lives in Minnesota, and my parents retired to Arizona, not that I’d want to see their dour faces anyway. We existed peacefully together until I left for college, but for most of my childhood, we carved wary paths around each other, carrying our uncertainty and stubbornness like shields. They tried their best. I know that. But if that was their best? Well . . . better for us all to move on. I
I put a piece of chocolate cake into the basket to celebrate, then add a pack of carrot sticks I’ll inevitably neglect before throwing in the trash. We all have our private battles.
Because the truth is that life is hard as hell, and we’re desperate to know why. It’s so much more comforting to blame Satan than to accept that chaos might destroy us for no reason at all.
