Seasons in the Family

Lea spoke to herself as she stood before the altar where bright red poinsettias decorated the marble steps and electric candles flickered by the rails.

“So, I’m the villain in this family of whispers or deafening silence, I’m the troublemaker. All because I pointed out the truth or tried to keep peace when they knew certain words would trigger my inner chaos.

I don’t call certain people. No, that’s a lie. I don’t call any of them.” Lea scoffed. “Because if I call one, they’ll be upset that I didn’t call the other. I stay away and I still feel sorry.

Politics in this family sucks. And I don’t mean the real politics of the world. It’s the pinning of siblings against each other. The accusations of cousins in texts and emails. The snickering afterwards that gets to me. So, I’m not perfect. Then again, neither were you.”

Lea looked up at the eight-foot statue. His arms were open as a greeting of peace and love.

“They think I don’t have a brain, all because I believe.” Lea sighed. “But I keep turning the cheek. Makes me wonder, are we more alike? Did you go through this? I’m here on my own, every Wednesday, by myself. And you know they’ll gossip. And you know, I won’t care anymore until next week.”

Lea smiled and inserted coins into the poor box. That felt good, and that’s good enough.

Photo via T. Gillmore

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