Today my son had a play date. He met up with a friend from his gym and they went bowling.
What was impactful to me was seeing the family home of his friend. Being in a family home hurts me. There were photos of smiling children on the wall. Rooms where things could be stored, and cared for. A fire place to rest in front of. And a husband, who wanted to be there. Who didn’t hate everyone and everything. Who didn’t hate his wife so much he became mentally ill. There were cheerful children who didn’t have their shoulders up, spines spiking with fear. There was a happy life being lived there.
I’ve been sad all day, since.
How are Things? 
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