Excerpt from Together We Heal:

“I remember so many times waiting in the parking lot at Tito’s while Dad was in having a drink. No matter what errand or time of day, we always stopped. I hated it when Mom would send Dad to pick me up after a meeting at school. We always stopped.

“After my senior year of high school, I was gone for the whole summer. It was pretty hard for me. I really missed Mom, especially. When I came home, Dad came alone to the airport to get me, and even after I was gone three months, I still had to sit in the truck and wait while he went in for a drink. Of course, Dad always asked me to come in, but after I was about eleven, I never did.”

“I picked up on the line about pain rising like the fear of war,” Linda said, crying. “I thought about myself as a child. I was filled with terror, lying in my bed. No one ever came to me to say, ‘It will be all right.’ I felt this overwhelming sense that I wouldn’t survive the terrible loneliness. I wish someone would have taken care of me so I would have felt safe. I had this immense longing, like an empty space. Today I’m still aware of that big space. The only thing in it is longing.

“I remember having so many questions. Always asking, ‘what will happen next? What will we tell people this time? Why don’t Mom and Dad come home on time? Why do they fight so much?’ I always had questions, but never any answers.” Linda started to sob. Szifra waited a minute, then said, “It’s important to be able to express our sadness, our fears. Crying is an effective way to do that.” Szifra invited Linda to say more.

“It was just so scary, so unfair. How could they have been so unaware of what we needed?” Linda said, still crying. Everyone sat quietly, not sure how to react.

“I really identify with you,” Trina said, reaching out to Linda. “Questions were a big part of my childhood, too,” Trina spoke softly. “I used to ask myself questions like, “Why am I alone? Why can’t I be a kid? Why don’t you love me?’ I can’t remember any good times. No happiness or love. I remember Dad beating Mom, then yelling at us because we were crying, and spanking us so we’d have something to cry about.

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