I turned 40 this month. My mom wrote me a birthday poem a practice learned in prison when it was the best gift she could afford to deliver. It still is.
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One line from her poem: Our son who spent hours sharing your life with us on the telephone making possible both forgiveness, anger, and love, and your silver lining instinct articulated as "I'm lucky, I have 4 parents."
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Replying to @chesaboudin
Your mom’s not a victim. Your parents’ victims were victims. You’re not a victim. You’re a narcissist and the city you’re helping destroy is your victim.
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