Sometimes, I try to be sad.
As the sun sets low, turning the rugged hills of Arizona into soft, purple, fuzzy-looking rumpled cones, dappled in the red-orange reflections of failing sunlight, I stand upon a hill. I try to reflect on What Could Have Been.
I could have been part of a family that was close -- a family that hugged, laughed and cried together, always. A family that strove not to take everything personally, but to see that even our attacks, especially our attacks, are projections of our own insecurities. I could have been part of a family that was so strong that even momentous change, like changing your religion, would have been no threat to the unity of the family, the love of the family. I could have been part of a family that understood that we are not our actions, that we are all lovable, that we are all innocent children who need love, especially when we act in ways that are unloving toward each other.
I could have been part of a family where everyone strove to trust, all the time, that they are loved.
But, What Could Have Been, never was. My parents sit in their Florida home, no doubt considering my disassociation some kind of personal attack, or betrayal -- if they think of me, their grandchildren, their daughter-in-law, at all. No, they are not even able to get beyond their own ailments and disallusionment long enough to trust that it had nothing to do with them. That they are loved.
I turn from the sun, from the majesty of the hills, the sparse beauty of the desert, and I look down upon our home, my wife and children.
Then I realize, that there, What Could Have Been...is.
Peace and love to you all,
Mike Pence