.
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A dream, as an observer. A kid with some sort of mental retardation was the focus born to a war widow in WW II, by what I could tell. He was doing well enough, if things had remained as they were he would have been ready when he grew up. But then his mother died. There ended being three choices, a decision he didn't get to make.
He had grandparents, on her side. They didn't care for the boy. It wasn't his condition, they didn't want the fuss. The retardation was simply an excuse. They would be hard on the boy, brutal, worse. I realize now, as I see in the hearts of those around me in real life I also see as such in my dreams. I wouldn't call it a gift. Though something about that? I don't need to be near, and I see other things. Might have started with INFJ, if I doubt even that. Either way, it certainly doesn't stop there.
He did have an uncle who truly had loved for his sister and through that cared for the boy. He brought more back from the war than he could handle. Drinking, fighting, minor criminality, he was going the wrong way and knew it. He tried to shield the boy but these things were taking over his life.
Finally the state institutions were the last options. No one knows of those places these days, thankfully. A place many went in yet few ever left. The worst ones were absolutely hellish. The best ones were made to look decent but were tyrannical gulags of horrific medically, sexually, psychologically, and physically, abusive settings. Something about power, doesn't matter who you are.
[lyrics can be found at the YouTube post, below, click show more]
The boy wouldn't even be given a say. A horrible dream to all but drown in. Me? I was hoping the uncle would figure it out. I saw goodness in there. I also believed the boy would slow his uncle down just enough that he might see when the right woman came along. All other scenarios ended... badly. I never did know which way it went, not even a hint. Gah!
Down very late, just couldn't drop. Up at 11:00. Later.
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