You are right

Mom and I sit in her family room - each in a recliner. I have finished today's chores, drinking water as she tells me about her day and then my father is the subject. I decide to take another approach with agreement. "It just isn't right, you deserved much better." I lean over and hug mom. I immediately think of the line from the movie The Unforgiven "Deserve has nothing to do with it." "Yeah, well." She pulls away, clearly uncomfortable with the hug, closeness is not the norm in our family. "We all deserved better, it'd been nice to have a good father. Thankfully, you did your best with the hand you were dealt and it is appreciated." I continue, pulling back to not lay on too thick. Actually, I do believe what I am saying as she does deserve to be treated well and to be happy. "He did better with you than your sister. You were his favorite." She pats my hand and leans back in her chair. "God can bring forth good even in the midst of suffering - it is an opportunity for growth, purification and deepening of faith." I fear I have gone too far with the biblical reference, but I am trying to tap into her weekly attendance at Our Mother of Sorrows. "Mmm hmm." She nods in agreement while staring past me out the window behind me. There is a bird on the windowsill, but it quickly flies away. The room is silent. "Was that a sparrow?" I have no idea about birds, but she likes to watch them. "No, that was a finch." She smiles as she loves to be correct. "Ah, okay, well I may have ruined its nest while trimming the tree, a nest fell to the ground, but it was empty." I had raked it up with the limbs and leaves, dumped into the trash. "I remember your dad killing a nest of them when we lived in Portland. He was good at ruining things." She smiles, the hate returning, normalcy restored. "I thought that was an accident, he fell back into the tree while working on the gutter." This is how I remember what she is referencing, this is how everybody remembers it as it is what actually happened. I guess it is true he killed a couple of young birds, but the how and why are very important. The rest of the conversation resumes the normal thread of the old man's evil ways. I lean back, disengage (as the therapist prescribed) and stare out the same window, the bird has returned, we make eye contact and this time it does not fly away, but I want to.