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Dear Ann,
Broken dreams...
I have felt broken all my life in a sense. No father, only child, early addiction.
And it's only relatively recently that I've come to believe that I could mend myself. It started when my kids were born really. But how painstakingly slow it's been.
Finally in recovery, I'm barely scratching the surface of what's still broken.
But the gift of hope... Finally.
What's a realistic dream? Is it that those who are precious to us experience happiness and contentment, and that we may be allowed to share and revel in the experience with them?
Is it that we, ourselves, will always be enough of a resource for them, that they will always know that we are there for them during their moments of darkness?
I remember growing up, knowing full well that it was a million to one shot that my life would be like the Waltons, to cite your example. Perhaps my very poor choices saw to that. But I'm one of the lucky ones. And so are you Ann. Because we have today, to express ourselves and examine what is broken. And we have tomorrow, to repair what we can, while we continue hoping and praying, for what we can't readily fix.
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