Broken People?

A few months ago I was gathered around a lunch table listening to the stories that flow from people about their lives.  Something as simple as food brings forth an astounding array of memories and experiences.

As I listened to one woman's tale of growing up, going to school, taking care of her brothers and cooking all of the family's meals - all while her able bodied mother looked on, my heart broke.  She said her husband cooks most of the meals because she has such a bad taste in her mouth about cooking.  He also grew up doing most of the cooking for his family, but it was approached differently.  His mother was still at work when he got home from school, but she would have laid out for him meat, thawed, along with any necessary ingredients and instructions.  Even though his mother wasn't physically there cooking with him, she mentally was.

I left that lunch table deep in thought.  Others around that table were obviously physically broken, in many ways, but I would not have guessed how psychologically scarred this woman was had she not told her story.

Aren't we all broken in one way or another?  Or at least we all have experiences that change us.  At times, when we are in the midst of those experiences, we think we are the only ones, that we are alone in our suffering, that no one will understand.  We may feel this way, but it is simply not true.

I believe this is one of the reasons I write.  I write to bring to light those things that break some of us, but also to show that they don't have to.  We can choose our own path.  We can choose our own reactions and responses.  We can indeed have hope.

I may write fiction, but I still hope that it rings true.