The Empty Table
When the "Village" disappears.
They tell you that it takes a village to raise a child, but they don't tell you what happens when the village sees the smoke and decides to run the other way.
The silence that stings
I've sat at the table when the phone stopped ringing. I've watched as the invitations for my other children dried up because people were "uncomfortable" with the storm inside my home. I don't blame them—fear is a natural response to what they don't understand—but the silence still stings.
Building a new village
Respecting their boundaries shouldn't have to mean accepting their judgment. I can respect that they want peace for their children, but I will never agree with the idea that my son is "too far gone" for a seat at the table. If the village is gone, I will build a new one.
This is for the mothers sitting in the silence. You are not alone, and your child is still worthy of love, even in the middle of the fire.