After a time I said, "It's not that it's unusual. Everybody has troubles, tragedies, but they...."
"There should be acknowledgement."
I nodded.
"There ought to be recognition."
"Yes. For all of us."
"Yes," Adonie said. "For Jackson's pain and for yours. There are scars. There has been a vicious battle, and there are scars. The pain within a mind is as terrible as that within a body. The anguish, the torment is as great. But there is generally less recognition, and less support and less understanding. It is easier to fall between, or outside, the diagnostic reaches. And the more courageous you are in bearing and enduring your pain the less understanding, not to mention succor, you receive. There should be recognition and a record. Other recompense as well would be good, but recognition would assuage. It would allow for healing."

 

I looked into her eyes. Black they were in her face of silver and shadow. It was so quiet I could hear her breathing and realized I was holding mine. The light in her eyes was so intense it fastened me to her words: "I'm so sorry."
I wanted to shrug, to shove it all away from me and discount it. But it was a little late for that. So I sat there like a lump.
"I'm sorry I can't take you back to before. I can't take you back and change it."

 

For that one time in my life I closed my eyes and relinquished and let compassion pour down over me sweet and restorative, Adonie's compassion, touching me everywhere, soothing me like balm, like a magical unguent smooth, soft and aromatic. Her hand touched my knee, did not remain, but was like a caress, again of her compassion which she did not refuse to give but gave freely, to me, discounting any risk to herself as negligible.