I haven't cried as much over something I've read in quite a while.
The author, Brooke Rinehart, is a 28-year-old employee of a New York public relations firm whose new husband stole her identity and used it to commit wire and mail fraud, federal offenses. Before that was established, she was awakened by officers one morning, handcuffed, and hauled out of her newly-purchased home in pajamas. As her life unraveled over the 90-day period it took to clear her, her mother took on and traveled the emotional distance, physically and soulfully there for her, sleeping, contorted, in a living room chair so as not to be more than a few feet from her distraught daughter, who was sleeping on the couch.
The daughter lost her appetite. So too, the mother. The daughter grieved her marriage, her lost home, her future, her assessment of reality. So too, the mother. The father, being male, did his best to be supportive, but in a different (and equally important) way.
|My mom in action|