Today is a day where the ache feels great and I do not know where it comes from nor understand why old wounds are flaring up right before my eyes.

In all my dealings with pain I should find myself more comfortable with it but no. I don’t. I should find myself more enthused at this opportunity to find cosmos in chaos but I am not. No. Not when the wounds are those I thought have already healed. The wounds lying so vulnerably in the shadows unattended. The wounds of my Mother and Father.

Just thinking about them makes me stumped. I am lost in my own musings and trying to make sense why whenever the issues of their marriage come up, they somehow find a way to make me the issue.

How far is this moment from the healing I thought I was already experiencing while dealing with Mom’s cancer diagnosis?

I feel very alone today. Absent of all solace save for a small image of Padre Pio and a wooden Benedictine cross clutched tightly while I slept through the night and throughout the whole morning because I didn’t want to go out of my room and face even more discomfort.

What makes parents not see their own actions and how they have pained their children?

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