Visdare 66 Restoration


Not since she was three years old had Amy uttered a single word.  Not since she’d seen her father killed in the bizarre accident with the threshing machine and the unicycle.  In the four years since then I’d had to convince myself that it would all be okay, that one day she’d speak again, like normal girls.  The psychiatrists – and there were many – all said it might take some trauma as profound as her father’s death to make her speak again.  And I knew, with a mother’s instinct, that when she ran screaming from her computer that this could be the day I got my little girl back.  I caught her, still running, in the meadow and clutched her fiercely in fear as much as hope.  And then she spoke.  “Mama,” she sobbed, “It was horrible!  Angela Goff used an apostrophe in the possessive its…






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Random poems, thoughts and blogs from Tony O'Neill