Chapter 23 - Rowan’s Memory
Sorrel began asking about Rowan more as he grew.
At seven:
“Did Mom know Uncle Garrett?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Adults in family knew each other.”
“Did she know body dad?”
There.
We had prepared.
“Yes.”
“Why not tell me?”
“You were very little.”
“Why not tell you?”
Harder.
“She and I had agreed years ago that I didn’t need to know the name. Later she decided she should tell me, but she died before she did.”
Not whole affair detail.
Age appropriate.
“Was she lying?”
I paused.
“She kept something important private longer than she should have.”
He stared.
“Is that lie?”
“Sometimes.”
No protecting dead mother with semantics.
Then:
“Was she bad?”
“No.”
“Uncle bad?”
“No.”
“Grandma bad?”
“No.”
He looked irritated.
“Then who bad?”
“People can do bad things without being only bad people.”
He groaned.
“Grown-up answer.”
Yes.
At eight he would know more.
At twelve more.
At eighteen, if he wanted, all.
Identity should unfold with capacity.
Not be dumped because adults need absolution.
The flashlight note remained in a fireproof document box.
Not Sorrel’s toy.
He knew it existed.
At seven:
“Can see?”
“Someday.”
“Why not now?”
“Because it is Mom’s message about adult history, and I want to explain everything around it.”
He hated answer.
Still accepted.
Privacy is not same as secrecy when there is a plan to disclose.
May you like
That distinction became our family’s new religion.
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