“The difference between our childhoods is I had you.” As someone who many times growing up had to act like the older sibling (even though I’m not, but the eldest was as absent as the father), the last scene between Nora and Agnes feels bittersweet and too close to home. “There I was. I’d ruined everything. I was alone, lying there, crying. And then, for the first time, I sat down and prayed. It’s hard to explain. I don’t know who I prayed to, but I said it out loud: “Help me. I can’t do this. I can’t do it alone. I want a home.” And just as Nora, I’ve been in that helpless stage, (although I never prayed, but did beg to the void), where all you want is to not feel and be alone, to just have a home and a safe place, as well as looking or expecting for amends to be made, even when knowing it won’t happen, at least not in the way you think you need them or want them to be, and settling for a lesser way, because you know some people won’t ever change their ways.
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