I was twelve, when after years of drinking and spending recklessly, I happened on my fathers dead body. The trauma in me seemed to spread cuz I was too stunned to speak or scream or cry. I froze. My family has never recovered. There is bitterness and hatred which goes unspoken and I've needed to become distant, due to their inconsistancies which terrify my step-son. They say one thing, then do another. It is traumatizing to him. He has many friends and he is a good student. He participates in bof club and he enjoys it. I could not, in my wise mind, abandon him to the selfishness of the world I see. I live with painful memories, but watching him live, applies healing medicine to those wounds. Maybe the future will see me smiling again? I believe it might.