“I am telling this story not to be understood, but because someone else might need to hear it.”
From Chapter One
“Mrs. LaFleur has expressed that, due to her vulnerable and fragile state at this juncture, she does not feel capable of effectively raising her son. Furthermore, she perceives no foreseeable relief from this condition. Consequently, Mrs. LaFleur does not wish to pursue custody at this time.”
The words on the letter seemed to pulse with their own terrible light. My vision narrowed until nothing existed except those typed sentences that dismantled my entire childhood story.
+ + +
I was forty-five years old, sorting through my dead mother’s belongings, when I discovered the legal proof that she had never wanted me.
For thirty-four years, I had believed I was the one who cruelly chose to leave her. The truth was much heavier: the choice was not mine to make.
Three people in my life had to die before I could tell this story. I’ve been carrying it for decades, turning it over in my mind like a stone worn smooth by water. Maybe if I tell it right, it’ll give you something you can use when your own world starts falling apart.
“The cremation had been performed before my sister or I had even been able to get onto an airplane. Neither of us was able to view her body and say a final good-bye. She was gone—again.”
What abandonment becomes when grace gets hold of it.
“This is how the cloud grows thin: not by fleeing the storm, but by walking through it.”
We don’t get to choose the wreckage we inherit. But we do get to decide what to build from it. This book is about what can grow in hard ground, and why it’s worth the work.
The Cloud Grows Thin — a memoir of what gets buried, what grace makes of the wreckage, and what becomes possible after.
Two months until the story finds its way into the world.