A couple of days ago I had a flashback to my childhood. I remembered that my father used to beat our dog, also, besides beating Mom and me. My wife has reminded me that someone has said that if someone abuses animals there is a good chance they will move on to abusing people also. I don't know why my father beat us and our dog. I don't know why he had such a raging temper. Even more confusing: I don't know why he could be so tender and loving sometimes and then so out-of-control at other times. And it was even more confusing and frightening for me, as a little boy. I wish my father had accepted the offer of help that was available to him. He refused it. I feel sad about that. It's part of my grieving process. I wonder what kind of grieving my own children and wife have done over the years about my own deficiencies.
Life is not fair. People make bad choices and sometimes do bad things. I wish life were not that way. It tears me up when I observe someone else being abused or having a difficult time recovering from past abuse. I wish I could do more, but sometimes I can't.
Life is not fair.
But I won't give up trying to help things get better.
