At one moment during the party, I thought to myself, “…Was this really so bad? Was this family life really so bad that it was deemed not worth fighting for?” While I do know that my parents’ relationship was not great, I still could not help feeling a little sad.

This past Christmas, like many others before it, was hard.  My “difficult” father tends to “act-out” during the holidays to get the attention he craves, and this Christmas was no exception.  So, my therapist suggested I do some restorative care to help heal my immediate father wound, and to help me manage my long-term depression: what Rick Springfield calls, “Mr. D.” 

About one year ago something very traumatic happened... My precious, amazing mom passed away... My world shattered the day that I lost her. Watching her suffer for months and being powerless to help her made me feel like I could relate in some way to our Blessed Mother, to the agony and helpless that she must have felt in watching her beloved Son die.

I was inspired to re-read The Lord of the Rings specifically through the lens of this experience, especially since Frodo is also the “Ring-bearer.” I finished this project recently and I wanted to share my reflections with you here.

Jesus, Jesus, I am scared.

Rescue me.

You awake and calm the storm

around me.

But there is still a storm

inside me.

You look at me and ask:

Will you show me your hurt?

Will you let me embrace you?

Will you accept my healing grace?

For the first time, Philothea looked at the tapestry he was creating. To her surprise, she saw it was a portrait of their family! There was Father on the left, tall and strong, with his arm around Mother on the right. In the middle in front of them both stood Philothea herself. She was surrounded by the arms of her Father and Mother, right where she belonged.

Grieving our lost identities in childhood and in our everyday lives can help us heal. At the same time if we recognize our need for security in our obsessive search for self, and realize that God is the only true source of security and steadfast love, then we will know who we are.

I’m fifty-fife years old, and up until recently I spent most of my life after my parents’ divorce in pain and not knowing why. I also spent my life running from that pain— into the arms of men, towards the bottle, and literally running for exercise, all of which gave me a brief reprieve from my problems.

Know that you are not alone, and that this is not the end, though it may feel like it. Know that even if I don't know you, that I am with you in this journey, that I care about you and so do many others who are like us. Know that you deserved a family who would stick together and that you deserve to grieve that you lost that forever.