We all want to be heard. We all have a voice. If you can find your voice, you can live. Speak, my counselor says, speak. The pain we hold close, like foxes beneath our coats, hidden but clawing us to death.
Jude needs to speak, he screams and we say use your words, love. Tell me why you are screaming, why are you angry, what does it mean?
Use your words. There are no words sometimes, just something primal that must come.
If we can write it, we live. We can breathe.
Jude is screaming, BEACH BEACH over and over and over. He has his bathing suit on, Red faced. Gasping and sobbing. How can get him to understand, the beach is closed, it is 55 degrees, I wish I could take you, but I can't.
I get out paper. I tell Jude to draw a picture of the beach. I write underneath, Jude wanted to go to the beach, but it was closed. He was sad and mad. May 21 is beach day. the end.
Quiet. Jude allows me to hold him. He holds the paper in his fist.
We just want to be heard.
If I can speak it, I can live. It cannot hurt me now, what was done to my body, years and years ago, yet will kill me if I hold it. I will use my words. I kiss his head, salty and sweaty. I hear you, love. It is just that simple. We all have a voice, and we all have to use our words.
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