This happened on Tuesday I think. Or Monday. I can't remember. But I meant to write it down and never did. And now it's Thursday. So I'm going to write my thoughts about what happened before I lose them.

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We talked about It again. It's been months since the last time. This one wasn't as therapeutic as it was a "matter of fact" sort of thing. Not too much drama, not nearly enough depth. It was almost as if we were discussing an old car accident or football injury.
Except for:
"I wish they could get (him) up on that tv show..."
And,
"You know, that's the real reason I hate your mother..."

Not much else was said. Even though I wanted to delve deeper, to pull more of the old wound out, I could tell he was finished speaking about it.
It broke my heart that it's still so fresh in his mind, and probably always will be.
I'm just so proud of him every day for living with it and not breaking under it like a top branch under too much snow.
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