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The richer the country, the thinner its safety nets.
The kids were my proudest achievement and I loved them both to distraction. But the sacrifices piled on and our tempers shortened. I was irritable, Sylvia was exhausted. Resentment percolated to the surface, as did regret perhaps, as we both contemplated the paths not chosen. Occasionally, we took out our frustrations on each other, though (almost) never on the kids.
There was an illicit thrill at being able to stare. Everything was quiet but the punk band playing in my rib cage. Adrenaline was on the drums, guilt on bass and lust about to play an epic guitar solo.
We start out wild, free and raw, like the stranded kids in Lord of the Flies. As we grow up we are tamed, restrained and our edges are sanded off. We’re told it’s so we can cohabit together in peace, part of the social contract.
“Grief is a strange animal, Mack. I think it gives you permission to do things that are entirely out of character.
