I smiled when my son told me I wasn’t welcome for Christmas, got in my car, and drove home. Two days later, my phone showed eighteen missed calls. That’s when I knew something had gone terribly wrong.
“I know,” I replied.
“I need help.”
We spoke honestly for the first time in years.
He left lighter. So did I.
Spring came to Spokane.
So did peace.
Family, I learned, isn’t blood.
It’s who chooses you—without conditions.
And I was finally done paying for seats in a show where I wasn’t allowed on stage.
