I've just finished a book called "The History of Love" by Nicole Krauss. In it, there is a passage that describes so well how I feel now that I know the truth about my FOO.
"The War ended. Bit by bit, Litvinoff learned what had happened to his sister Miriam, and to his parents and to four of his other siblings (what had become of his oldest brother, Andre, he could only piece together from probabilities). He learned to live with the truth. Not to accept it, but to live with it. It was like living with an elephant. His room was tiny, and every morning he had to squeeze around the truth just to get to the bathroom. To reach the armoire to get a pair of underpants he had to crawl under the truth, praying it wouldn't choose that moment to sit on his face. At night, when he closed his eyes, he felt it looming above him."
Though, unlike Litvinoff, I don't think I have learned yet how to live with this truth. Working on it...
