June 25, 1981
Today I walked past the Plaza and saw the Mothers marching. They come every Thursday and march in silence, demanding to know what happened to their children. I stopped and watched for a few minutes and couldn’t help but feel sad for them. Not just for the loss of their children but for the fact that they still have so much hope. I lost that dangerous optimism long ago, the moment Mama disappeared. I miss her and sometimes lay awake wondering what she felt when they burst in, if she fought, if she thought of us. But I don’t wonder if she’ll come home. I’ve reached a quiet numbness.
I watched the Mothers march and I pitied them. Holding onto hope can do nothing but cause you pain. Asking justice and truth from this government is living in a fantasy. But maybe that’s the difference between losing a parent and losing a child. Maybe they feel like a piece of them is missing and they truly can’t move on. Not that any of us can but it’s different.
I walked home and made myself a snack and let Beni out. Life moves on and the only way to handle it is to move with it.
Thinking of you daily.
All my love,