Throughout the years there have been many times when plenty was never enough. Frazzled young parents running about. Minding the wash of the brains by the elite. Filling up carts to the brim, angered by tiny little beings crying for that which the parents were oblivious. When all they wanted was for someone to look at them, breathe and hold their hand.

The little ones ran through life with joy, the parents wishing they themselves could sedate the world enough to survive. What seemed wrong was really very right. The laughter and tears and wishes fell silent as the parents rushed to drop off the little ones into the hands of strangers. And in the traps and cells and formidable terror, the grownups were the ones that needed songs, the picture books and games of bright colors.

Today was the day for an apology sent, perhaps 30-plus years too late. Sorry for placing the burden of perfection on a young mind. Sorry for all that wasn’t and all that stopped the yet-to-be’s. Sorry for the drop-offs when the stay-heres would have been better. Sorry for creating the life that led to one thing, not the other.

The life was never imagined for reasons unknown. The mother was tortured beyond imagination by the strong ones turned evil. Never mind that, bring her the little one swaddled in pink or blue. Shove her into the place unplaced and shattered. Snap her in half and half and half and half again and again and again. Tear up her insides until she’s left numb and shrieking on the center stage.

The stage, now hidden and secret without admission, has become the quiet contemplation. The trips afar turn into trips within. The energy and passion long gone from the heart turned gray and the bones brittle like a crumbling and ancient column. No need for explanation for there is none that can be heard or read.