Post-generational trauma?

Death shakes life. It also opens Pandora boxes that the deceased kept a tight lid on.
The week began with my Granny’s parting. She faded away from life. And the fissures begin to show among the siblings. Things that haven’t been said out of respect for parents are voiced. It’s all civilized, but one veil (Vorhang) is gone. Will the others fall too?

Looking out at the sea, listening to the waves lapping over and over at the beach, the air hazy from the sun, I’m wondering what is real.

In my generation, among us siblings, we desire to not repeat.  To speak more, keep the conversation lines open, be honest, and not be afraid of each other. A desire that needs to be cultivated.

And I look at the next generation. What seeds am I sowing? I see distrust and aggression, and I water it. My brain is too tired to do the hard things: open, listen, take the time, and walk the slow way that leads to higher ground.
My dream? That my kids go on vacation together, with or without their partners and kids.