Among the loving, innocent, and sensitive spaces in his mind, conflict finds a place to burrow. Anxiety and inflexibility, struggle and strife, underscore our every move. Every interaction. The wounds from the ever growing egg shell landscape of our home cut deep. We wearily long for peace and calm to wash away those cracked and bloodied shards. Now and again, respite visits, dragging the jagged shells under a rug. But the crimson stained floor reminds us of what was and may be to come again.
We hope that one day soon, quiet and happiness build a life here in our home. Until then, we bandage our feet and keep walking forward, any way we can.