Truth Owning

ES continues heavy on my mind. Nothing new there. Even in estrangement and death, the parent/chil bond remains a force of nature. Silent you stand on the edge of my sight. No words do you speak to explain your great might. The further you stand, the closer you stay. The less that you speak, the more that you say. Should I get some more Brasso to polish my Toxic Mom Crown? It was the last gift ES gave me an uncounted number of years ago. Early in to the Toxic People fad.

At present, second-hand updates of financial transactions between he and his father remain the most frequent interaction between us. Business as usual. Even those interactions have diminished in the year since Hubby refused to bail him out of jail --again. In recent discussions, Hubby has been wanting to end his homelessness with another round of financial dependency. My FIL supported his ES until he buried him in winter, 2007. It's a family tradition? It is getting easier for me to hear the love of my life through my mantraic drive to listen with my ears open and my mouth shut. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I am getting calmer as I attempt to listen with my mouth shut. I cannot sort those psychoticks for Hubby any more than he was able to sort the psychoticks of child prostitution for me. I amnae the Owner of All Truth.

Allowing the sorrow of parent/child estrangement to process into business as usual is a sorrow perhaps greater than the 2nd anniversary of my other son's funeral. Both bodies of grief continue to weave on the haunting question of, "Which of my sons died first?"

Sorting. . . Processing. . . Seeking the cathartic release of tears.