I’ve been doing research for a story that involves memorializing/fictionalizing some of my mother’s life and family. I’m fortunate in that I have many many old letters passed between people that I remember well but, since I was a child at the time, had no hint of what they really thought; I only saw what I saw, and I formed my impressions from those memories.
Things certainly weren’t quite what they seemed.
Among other things, I’ve been shown that affinity between people who supposedly love each other is rare. And what is love, really, if it is not affinity.
Over and over, I find instances where, behind the curtains so to speak, those who supposedly love someone denigrate, find endless fault, blame, castigate . . . on and on.
Now, I do believe in families. I’m not even losing faith in human nature. I don’t think I am. But it’s clear that affinity between people is tied with very loose knots. It seems much easier to love from a distance, from a philosophical perspective, from a dogmatic position, or even after someone is gone from the human plane.
M L S Baisch