When mama’s away…
Earlier this week I came in tired from school and was greeted by Chica-Poo holding one of my vintage pink wine cordial glasses filled with water and proclaimed, “We are having a wine party, me and Daddy…”
Then today I came home from clinical and I see Chica attached at the waist by some sort of strap and she is crawling around as her Dad leads her by the leash and she tells me, “I am a doggie being walked. Arrff. arrff. Roawlff. woof.”
My ordinary life keeps creeping back in whether I want it to or not.
Today would have been his 13th birthday. I will never be able to rid myself of the images of them being killed. Slaughtered. Why not just take your own life? How could he possibly have done this? How. how. how. why. why. why.
There can be no god. No god that would allow that to happen to children. none. none. none.