"It's okay, it's just that you reminded me of her, just for a second. But I know you're not like that." We stood, across the room from each other, in silence."I'm sorry about this morning," she said in a small voice. I looked at her questioningly. "I'm sorry I was acting so ... so needy. And so greedy. I..." and her voice trailed off.I crossed the room and stood next to her, within reach. Her eyes dropped to the ground. She was so vulnerable it made me ache. I took my hand and gently lifted her chin up so I could see her face. She looked embarrassed and uncomfortable. I held my arms out to her and she rushed into my embrace. I held her, feeling the soft skin of her back under my hands. She felt small, but after she took a deep, calming breath, she felt stronger than she had at first. She was shorter than I, and her forehead pressed against my lips.I suddenly had some very un-motherly, un-sisterly feelings towards her – definitely feelings inappropriate for a therapist. These feelings. Those men and women who wake up each morning, and put themselves in harms way by choice, are those who stand between us and the true horrors that still lurk in our world. In doing so, they free us up to fear our next car payment, the supposed slight of a lover, the impression we will make at the company picnic. We cloak ourselves in the fear of living our lives. We see our lives not as magical gifts to be treasured, taken, emptied of every last drop of sustenance. Oh no. We see our lives as something to be endured, gotten through, to get even with. The path of most people’s lives, leaves a trail of unopened doors, behind which lay the magic of life never released because of our fear. My life was easy in comparison to most… up until the summer I have described in the previous volume of my tale. Easy isn’t even the right word for it. Blessed is a better one. By the end of that summer I thought I knew true pain. The loss of Sasha. The loss of my child. The loss of my path. These losses.
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