Maybe if my grandfather didn’t hit her, my mom wouldn’t be so quiet.
And maybe she wouldn’t have married my dad because he doesn’t hit. And maybe I would never have been born.
But I’m very glad to have been born, so I don’t know what to say about it all
especially since my mom seems happy with her life, and I don’t know what else there is to want.
It’s like if I blamed my aunt Helen, I would have to blame her dad for hitting her
and the friend of the family that fooled around with her when she was little.
And the person that fooled around with him. And God for not stopping all this and things that are much worse.
And I did do that for a while, but then I just couldn’t anymore. Because it wasn’t going anywhere. Because it wasn’t the point.
I’m not the way I am because of what I dreamt and remembered about my aunt Helen.
That’s what I figured out when things got quiet. And I think that’s very important to know.
It made things feel clear and together. Don’t get me wrong.
I know what happened was important. And I needed to remember it.
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