The mirror shows a reflection that is not my own now. Lm was a young girl of thirteen when she turned all feelings inward; no one could truly know Lm or reach her no matter how hard they would try. They, meaning, my desperate mother, teachers, school counsellors, psychologists, and “friends”; from there came bullies who learned not to cross me and then silence when I passed nosey neighbours and those who fed my peculiarities.

MiddleMe, doesn’t want to remember Dad, but Lm breaks down without him. Tears spill and plop down onto the paper she is writing on. Lm is learning that Mm doesn’t hate you; she detests your lying, bullying, and trauma invoking behaviours such as witnessing the grooming of your new younger conquest, your next spouse, and endless lovers in between. We are not your enemy; you’ve done a good job at hating yourself for eighty years.

Lm however remembers just “US”; fourteen years of just Lm and you. She hid all your ugly behaviours and stuffed them into a closet with a heavy lock for her need to be loved and love was stronger than she. The parts she hangs onto are singing in wonderful harmony, a shared love of sentiment and this unspoken code that read, ” I got your back”. She had your back until Mm just, just couldn’t, watch her try anymore. Dad, “You were a stupid teenager and human; parenting was out of the question for you. I feel sorry for your sons who could not be seen because you took up all their space with your ego.” Mm screams this to Lm.

She mirrored many of your behaviours which Mm so wishes could be erased. Thing is Dad, no matter how much her heart can be set afire with a desire to see you and hold your hand again, you will never admit the truth. It’s completely impossible for you to tell a straight up honest story. We love our siblings which you have strayed like breadcrumbs across the globe, yet the pact you push is, “Shut-up or get lost”. Mm won’t go down that road with you and your “NOW” family. You manipulated our dearest treasure, our first baby sister, then my unforeseen siblings became jaded from your lies. You embalmed your current partner with some sick, dysfunctional image of you as honourable, admirable, worthy. She is the enabler you needed when we quit the job. So, while Lm’s tears are justified, and memories can be good, Mm tells her you are dead. Merging is difficult for Lm and Mm. They are learning that they can talk to you without any fear through heaven’s ears where they imagine God makes you listen. He or She or They sit on you and force you to hear Lm and God threatens to send you back to earth and do it all over again, yet with honesty. Oh, this dream is a good one. We wish you were not a dream, nor a place we fall into if a photo appears of you. Our minds too often visit a place where good times live.

If we were to see you in human form again it would be brief; we want you to only cry and say, “I love you; I am sorry! “Bravely, Mm and Lm would turn away and walk away stronger as one. But alas it is not a movie, a dusty western where we win, and you lose. The reality show is we all lose.