Into the Fire, Mom and Dad.

I ran this morning, in the dark, as the cool early fall air caressed me.

I ran to this song.

I ran away from every petty or malicious demon chasing me.

I ran away from the three consecutive nightmares I have had about my Ex for three nights in a row.

Then I alternately cried, deep sobs difficult-to-breathe, and ran.  It came upon me an incisive understanding of what my parents went through 32 years ago.

Divorce is devastating, Mom and Dad.  I am sorry you had to go through that.  I am so sorry you had to make excruciatingly difficult choices under extreme emotional duress.  I was 4 years old, my brother was 6 and my sister was 10.  You sleeplessly worried about us.  You cried and cried and cried.  You started life over, and it was an epic challenge for both of you.  

You were devastated.  You were guilt-ridden.  You would spend the rest of your lives wondering if you could have done things differently or better.  I know you did that especially, Dad.  I know you blame yourself for every insane thing that happened to my brother.

Mom, Dad, it's not your fault.  You are human.  You really did the best you could.  

It is impossible to walk away from a family life and a marriage, even when it is absolutely impossible to stay.  Devastating.

I am so sorry for your incredible despair and your profound suffering.  I know it took years for both of you to heal.  Mom, you never really healed.  I'm so sorry.

I ran and as I ran I saw the wreckage of the emotional cataclysm around me.  I tended to every one of the wounded.  

I ran over to Hurt, laying there in a puddle of blood.  I patched up Hurt's wounds and I kissed her on the forehead and told her she would heal.

I climbed over dead bodies to reach Resentment, legless, screaming in rage.  I applied a tourniquet, injected morphine, and told Resentment its time had come, despite my best efforts.

Guilt was face down in the mud.  Only upon reaching her did I see she had extensive open wounds.  I had to stop the perilous amount of bleeding.  I sutured, then bandaged every rupture.  I told her I loved her and that it was okay.  That she conducted her service with valor, but that she would be released and never called upon again.

I reached Anger just in time.  Except, no, I was too late.  Anger was dying.  I said a prayer.

Finally, I reached Sadness.  Sadness, in a fetal position.  I enveloped Sadness in my arms and we cried together.  With kind words, I assured Sadness she would beat the odds and be reborn.