My son is writing his story. His very own, unique, and uncompromising hero's journey. His journey has the appropriate escalating conflict that is essential to any triumph. I know how hard it is for him now. To rise above, we must first fall below. I hope to be with him. I hope to be between him and harm's way in all the dark places he must travel.
My son is writing his story. His very own, unique, and uncompromising hero's journey.
And he is writing mine as well.
My family has been in one of those dark places we must travel. We are searching for people to stand between us and harm's way. Today, knowing nothing of our current struggles, a friend reminded me of why I write. She reminded me of the poem that made me believe in the eternity of words.
I will share his journey and struggles soon, but it is still being written.
This is why I write. This is why I read. This is why I believe. Even though the Italian translation in the preamble says "Abandon all hope ye who enter here", this is why I still hope.
Forget Stacy's mom, T.S. Eliot has got it going on.
|1. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock|