Twice in my life, I have been caught off guard by an emotional typhoon that was as intense as it was unexpected. As if a swarm of bees were flying through me, their silent roar filling my lungs. I turned red, perspired, and tears began to roll down my cheeks; I couldn’t help it.
The first time was at a historical site where people had been locked up and tortured. The second, as I stepped into the foyer of our old house a few years after it was sold to another family.
Though the two places bear no comparison, making that kind of connection allows me to say, despite chronic objections, that no, things have not always been easy.
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