ShatteredMirrors
My nephew is down here for a visit from Kansas, he's 8 years old already and yet I can still remember holding him as a newborn in a hospital that smelled old and spent. Conflicted but simpler times, I loved that kid then and I still do. His mother, my wayward sister, is another story. She's abandoned her boy. When he turns and asks me "where his mama is?" I can barely stand to look him back in those eyes and tell him shamefully "I don't know." It's those tough questions that make it hard to spend time with him. It's not for lack of intelligence or misplaced and badly timed humor, but for the terrible questions he asks that I dare not ask myself. The narcistic in me could care lessabout my dear sister though. The only one I'm concerned with is that little boy and his happiness