Trauma is subjective

Not knowing my blood family had me in wonder. I knew they were probably not good people. I associated their inability to raise me with being evil, a mistake in the series of many more to come. Ever notice that we tend to remember the tragedies more vividly than the fairy tales?

Mystery to me: what would compel one who intentionally adopted someone with heavy baggage to leave in the middle of their developing years? I was at the borderland of sanity from the very beginning. The story of our century is the story of failed fathers and institutional lies.

The paradox is, I loved this man the most of all. I figured out who my biological parents were. They were both very ill. It startled me. The last decade all three have passed and I attended the funerals of two of them. My greatest love was burned and scattered at the ocean, gone.