The pain and suffering that runs through a family can be layered and complicated, as it was in my mother’s family of origin.
Born of an abusive mother, my mother and her three siblings grew deep wounds they tried later in life to overcome. Hard as they tried, their adult lives were punctuated by major missteps and difficulties, painful to live, painful to witness.
But first they were children. Lovely, sweet smiling young children, they were 6, 8 and 9 when I was born, more like older siblings to us than aunts and uncles. We could see they adored us. Their faces awash in light when they saw us coming, we seemed to be a beacon in their lives, sunshine crossing the dark shadow.
