Why the rush?
We were 10, 14 and 15 years old, my sister, brother and I. Young, foolish. Hurting. I don't remember much when we were this age. Trauma has a way of doing that to people, I think; making them forget not only the bad, but unfortunately the good too. The unthinkable had happened to us at this seemingly carefree age. It felt like we were in a dream. A horrible, awful dream. What happened to us, you might ask? Well, perhaps it wasn't necessarily something that had happened to us, rather, news we received which would then result in a kind of happening: Mom and Dad were separating. For good. I don't recall if we even had a chance to say goodbye. Did he just leave? I was in the abyss that is grief and shock. The lonely, other-world, the already indescribable arena of an adolescent, just on the brink of understanding real emotion. And then this happens? What do I feel? Can I feel? It was during these early days (months?) that a family-friend picked my sister, brother and I up from
