We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light. (Plato)
Sun slips through the trees on an ordinary Friday evening. It brings a light too intense for human eyes. In the shadows, while six friends meet, stories appear.
I listen to the story of a friend’s mother. Her early life. Her name was changed after she found a foster home. Her history remained hidden. She was told that she came from Italian ancestry. However, her parents had been Syrian. My friend’s mother was a paradoxical gift. After a rape. A beautiful child came to the world after a moment of horror, pain, and crime. In this Syrian country, the rapist was murdered. His murderer acquitted. As if the killing had been a service.
Shame is powerful. The event was hidden from everyone’s knowledge. A scar remained long after the child’s umbilical cord was severed. Long after fostered transitioned into adopted. Long after the girl became a mother with grown children.
I hear this long-ago child’s daughter speaks. I know her mom’s legacy. The gifts she passed on as my friend stands in front of the light passing through the trees. She, too, is light. One of the kindest, gentlest people I know.
The beauty of my friend’s tale comes like this sunset in the woods. Darkness meets with light. Pain and healing join one another. Both real. The light, stronger.
My friend’s mother died years ago. Yet, I allow my thoughts to waft into the evening breeze. Thanks, I tell her mom. Thanks for the continuing gifts that came from your life.