And the truth is, I’m not fine. I don’t want to stay here all summer. I can’t imagine what it will be like to be surrounded for eight long weeks by things that remind me of my mother and of everything that we lost. I want to go home. And more than anything, I wish I could talk about this with someone who truly understands what I went through in the past. Still, I can’t tell him. Dad’s suffered enough. I can’t burden him with this too. “I told you everything.” A little white lie never hurt anyone.
