It was about 10 p.m. Wednesday. I was taking my nightly walk through my quiet suburban neighborhood when I realized that something seemed wrong at a house just ahead.
I couldn’t tell what was going on, but I heard the low murmur of voices that didn’t sound happy. There was a car that seemed to be about half packed. The trunk and the doors were open. It was dark, so I couldn’t see much, but I knew there were people in the driveway.
I heard the low sound of a child sobbing. Then I heard a man’s voice. He wasn’t shouting or angry, but the voice was firm.
“I don’t want Mommy to leave, Amber, but that’s her choice.”
The soft, muffled sobbing continued. Then I was far enough past that I couldn’t hear what else might have been said.
And with that, I was a child again — just for a few minutes — reliving similar scenes from my own dysfunctional family’s past. Even though it’s been decades since I experienced those things, I could feel the feelings as if they were fresh. Hurt. Fear. Anger. Betrayal. Confusion. Mostly fear that I was being abandoned, although the child-size version of me didn’t have had the words to call it that.

Tuesday’s Senate vote reminds me of German ‘Enabling Act’ of 1933
THE McELROY ZOO: Meet Lucy, the dog who used to live on a chain
Our contradictory beliefs lead to irrational views, foolish decisions
Economic and moral ignorance is at root of fast food worker walkout
How does modern culture escape ‘little boxes made of ticky tacky’?
Life choices: What’s important enough to spend your life doing?
Do political labels make things clear or just confuse everyone?
AUDIO: Without mastering ideas, we’re all blind leading the blind
It’s great to visit Memory Lane, but it’s fatal to try to live there