I'm sitting outside the Cottage with a sock monkey and a shoe tucked under my arm, treasures from Tuck who doesn't understand that this stuff doesn't belong to him. He thinks it does and so he parades around with it until I, yelling, snag it from his mouth and tuck it under my armpit.
I'm thinking tonight, thinking about life and family, thinking about my heart and healing. A friend asked me today how I was. I replied honestly:
I'm mad this morning. I'm mad at my siblings. I'm mad at bitterness and anger that's corrupted their hearts. I'm mad at the things that it's stolen from me. I'm mad that I've (hopefully) temporarily lost my sisters and one of my brothers. I'm mad that I've been excommunicated and that I'm left to deal with the ramifications of their misinformed decisions. I'm just mad.
And I'm hurt.
I'm hurt that my life is moving on, and they're not involved to be a part of it. I'm hurt that I go to text them about all the random stuff I text them about, but I'm halted because I won't get a response. I'm hurt that my heart feels disposable. I'm hurt that I told them this would happen and nobody listened. I'm hurt that we will never be the same. But mostly, today, I'm just mad.
Tonight I wish everything were different.
I wish I hadn't been in a courtroom three weeks ago.
I wish my family had been more honest with each other.
I wish I had been more honest with them.
I wish that arrogance and pride weren't winning.
I wish this were a nightmare and that I'd wake up and my little brother would be beside me, and we'd all be just three days away from a weekend together.
I wish the reality weren't that it'll be a long time before we're all together again.
I wish there was a wake-up call.
I wish that my family's history wasn't being re-written by hate and bitterness.
In the meantime, I wish for grace and peace.