Missing Pieces
Missing pieces—but the face is still recognizable.
The news with so many incomplete facts, conflicting opinions and holes often leaves me confused. In Sunday’s paper two columnists wrote opinion pieces on Israel’s sixtieth birthday. One writer saw the plight of the Palestinian who can’t go home and one celebrated the return of the Jews to their homeland. In between their respective views are facts that remain shrouded in rhetoric and terrorists, retaliations and control. How does one begin to unravel the skein of events and accusations? Missing pieces.
Missing pieces. In a family, words left unsaid or words said in anger often lead to empty places. If the space created by a lack of words or discordant words extends over time, a small crack expands into a crevasse and that widens into a chasm. Days roll into weeks and months and even years. Soon years become decades. In some families only the family album shows a complete picture. The children in the photo don’t know that the family album will end with pages and pages of emptiness. Do they wonder how it all happened? Does anyone really know the story?
Writers suggest, intimate, but only rarely spell out in specific detail everything about the story. The reader is not a passive couch potato. Readers actively engage the story. Here missing pieces work.
We all have missing pieces.
The news with so many incomplete facts, conflicting opinions and holes often leaves me confused. In Sunday’s paper two columnists wrote opinion pieces on Israel’s sixtieth birthday. One writer saw the plight of the Palestinian who can’t go home and one celebrated the return of the Jews to their homeland. In between their respective views are facts that remain shrouded in rhetoric and terrorists, retaliations and control. How does one begin to unravel the skein of events and accusations? Missing pieces.
Missing pieces. In a family, words left unsaid or words said in anger often lead to empty places. If the space created by a lack of words or discordant words extends over time, a small crack expands into a crevasse and that widens into a chasm. Days roll into weeks and months and even years. Soon years become decades. In some families only the family album shows a complete picture. The children in the photo don’t know that the family album will end with pages and pages of emptiness. Do they wonder how it all happened? Does anyone really know the story?
Writers suggest, intimate, but only rarely spell out in specific detail everything about the story. The reader is not a passive couch potato. Readers actively engage the story. Here missing pieces work.
We all have missing pieces.
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