From “Walk with Me: A Journey through the Landscape of Trauma” by Ellen Corcella
In the mornings, I woke up to a pretense of normalcy. My mother had oatmeal, toast, and orange juice on the kitchen table: my father read the newspaper; and we were shuffled off to school. My father conspired in the cover-up. He did not talk, ask questions, or engage in conversation. Rather, the newspaper, a crossword puzzle, or television became billboards that screamed, “Do not ask, do not tell.” My father was missing even when he was present.