These days, I try to be less 'Whoever You Want Me To Be', and more my own flawed, critical, fumbling and comically self-involved self.
In my real home, elephant deaths are a complex and beautiful affair. We honor our loved ones, just as humans do. I was robbed of this rite of passage.
Grieving is not about blaming, but simply an acknowledging the tragic nature of events. If anger comes up in this process, we shall honor that too.
In my mind, things are different -- I think that is always the case. I don’t care about drama, I care about the trees, yet that is somewhat dramatic.
Our habitual ways of relating to others, our self-identity as sexual women... are all up for a profound shift as woman enters the cocoon of the menopause.
We recognize that the children in cages are our children. The desperate, terrified mothers, the humiliated fathers, are our family. And we are outraged.