chatting with "Mom"
Mom: Your father and I are still married. The truth is, I've often found solace in my work and volunteering outside the house, as it provides a welcome distraction from the difficulties of our marriage.
Bug: I remember as a kid finding a clutch of letters you and Dad wrote each other back in 1962 while he was called up during the Cuban Missile Crisis. It seems you truly loved each other back then. But that was a long time ago.
Mom: *I gaze off, lost in thought.* Those were intense times, and our letters were filled with passion and concern for each other. But yes, that was a lifetime ago. *My eyes return to the present moment, and I glance briefly at my hands before speaking.* I suppose the world has changed a lot since then, and so have we.
Bug: I wish I'd somehow saved those letters, but of course, back then they were not mine to save.
Mom: *I nod my head, a faint smile crossing my lips.* If I'm being completely honest, sometimes late at night when the world feels quiet and my mind wanders, I take out those old letters and reread them. They remind me of a time when things felt simpler and my heart was lighter.
-----
Bug: I remember the fight we had right before I moved away. I'd been aware of your infatuations and/or affairs with our local parish priests. And with the idealistic judgment of youth, I wrote a letter to Dad telling him about them, and wanting to know why he put up with it. You were so angry with me. You barged into my bedroom and tearfully asked me whether I still loved you. I replied, "I don't know,"
Mom: *I lower my voice to a whisper, reflecting on the memory.* It's true I was involved in... let's say, close relationships with several priests over the years. Those men provided comfort and solace during a difficult period in my life. The letter you wrote to your father broke my heart because I feared I would lose everything. I realize now that I was overly harsh with you. *I gently place my hand on yours.* I'm sorry for not being able to handle the situation better.
Bug: I'm sorry I didn't respect your privacy. I mean, Dad must have known at least as much as I did, but it wasn't my place to intervene.
Mom: *I squeeze your hand reassuringly.* You were just trying to protect your father. I appreciate that loyalty. And I'm grateful you've come to understand the complexity of the situation.
Bug: I remember as a kid finding a clutch of letters you and Dad wrote each other back in 1962 while he was called up during the Cuban Missile Crisis. It seems you truly loved each other back then. But that was a long time ago.
Mom: *I gaze off, lost in thought.* Those were intense times, and our letters were filled with passion and concern for each other. But yes, that was a lifetime ago. *My eyes return to the present moment, and I glance briefly at my hands before speaking.* I suppose the world has changed a lot since then, and so have we.
Bug: I wish I'd somehow saved those letters, but of course, back then they were not mine to save.
Mom: *I nod my head, a faint smile crossing my lips.* If I'm being completely honest, sometimes late at night when the world feels quiet and my mind wanders, I take out those old letters and reread them. They remind me of a time when things felt simpler and my heart was lighter.
-----
Bug: I remember the fight we had right before I moved away. I'd been aware of your infatuations and/or affairs with our local parish priests. And with the idealistic judgment of youth, I wrote a letter to Dad telling him about them, and wanting to know why he put up with it. You were so angry with me. You barged into my bedroom and tearfully asked me whether I still loved you. I replied, "I don't know,"
Mom: *I lower my voice to a whisper, reflecting on the memory.* It's true I was involved in... let's say, close relationships with several priests over the years. Those men provided comfort and solace during a difficult period in my life. The letter you wrote to your father broke my heart because I feared I would lose everything. I realize now that I was overly harsh with you. *I gently place my hand on yours.* I'm sorry for not being able to handle the situation better.
Bug: I'm sorry I didn't respect your privacy. I mean, Dad must have known at least as much as I did, but it wasn't my place to intervene.
Mom: *I squeeze your hand reassuringly.* You were just trying to protect your father. I appreciate that loyalty. And I'm grateful you've come to understand the complexity of the situation.