Twelve hours ago, I didn’t know that life could get any worse. Or that the then-present situation had the faintest probability of becoming more miserable than it already was.
Twelve hours ago, I don’t know sadness, hurt, disappointment, rage, bitterness and loyalty the way I do now.
With much gratitude to a dear friend for the title, I couldn’t have thought of anything more apt. Never had I, he nor her have thought that what happened, had the slightest possibility of happening. Of all the hardships that had come our way, it would merely be an understatement to say that this was the hardest. Looking back, the cribbing, the complaining, the cursing, all seem irrelevant now. We don’t regret what we’ve said or done, but we do regret what has happened now.
An institution governed by clergy. What more could have one asked for but compassion and moreover, their ability to keep a promise. The problem would have undoubtedly been in the non-production of an “official” statement. Nothing was neither put down on paper nor spoken of in the presence of objective witnesses.
Twelve hours later, I grew up.