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Drear Dawn, i believed you should write about CARE or CARING also, good job…
My son is seventeen years old, and he has a broken heart.
Of course I also had a broken heart when I was seventeen, but what does that matter? My son doesn’t want to listen to me reminisce about my own suffering. He doesn’t want to sit around mournfully comparing notes about people who did us wrong. It’s not that he disbelieves me, or shuns my advice, or is too embarrassed to imagine his mother as a tear-swollen teenager. But the past is not the present. I got over my broken heart, but he’s still in the middle of his; and telling a mourner that he’ll recover from his grief is like telling a woman in childbirth that she’ll recover from her agony. How can she understand you? She’s trapped in the throes of now.
Nonetheless, I keep offering my son useless advice, for like every adult I am always…
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