You’re cognizant enough to think, “Wow, this is going to leave a scar.” But mostly you are confused
The accusations slam you fast and heavy. You can’t even follow the thread of the argument, but you are screaming at the top of your lungs. You think the important thing is to just keep swinging.
Later, in a calmer moment, you are driving to St. Vincent DePaul’s with your brother. You are dropping off your dad’s books. They have titles like Satan Be Gone and The Attack on the Virgin Mary.
“Well, I’m banking on time healing all wounds,” he finally says. You know he is banking on it because it’s all we got.
Later, you look at your baby, and you know your brother is right. You may be old and tired, but your son isn’t. You may be pursued by angry ghosts and battling ancient fights, but he’s not.
You realize you are not so important. Your pain isn’t so unique or poetic. You will get over it, you always do.
Besides, there are diapers to be changed and cheerios to pick up off the floor. Who has time to nurse a wound?