Family Bible

So, I cry. I cry about my diagnosis. I cry about my grandmother. I cry about my dysfunctional family. I cry about my life falling apart. I cry about my delusions and my dreams. I cry about losing touch with reality, and I cry about a reality that’s too harsh to face. What was the point? Then my stomach reminds me that I am human, and that I am still alive. So, I wipe my eyes and head down stairs.

As I pass through the living room, I notice mom thumbing through a worn bible. She does not notice me, or chooses not to, and I am grateful. I continue to the kitchen without speaking, and I make a sandwich.

When I sit down to eat, mom enters. She sets the bible on the table and sits across from me, “How are you feeling?” Her eyes are red and puffy.

“Ok,” I shrug, “You?”

She shrugs and sighs, “Ok, I guess.”

We sit in silence for a minute. I pick at my sandwich and she thumbs at the corner of the bible.

“I’ve been going through mima’s stuff,” she says.

Tears prick at my eyes again. I breath deep and blink them away.

“That must be hard,” I don’t know what else to say.

“Yeah, Aunt Lily is still up there, but I needed a break,” she sits in silence for a moment, then pushes the bible towards me, “I found this.”

I tense a little as the bible slides my way.

“It’s her family bible,” she adds, “There’s even a family tree the in front. Your name is there.”

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