301
May 24, 2019
Impatiently, I refresh the screen, tapping my foot, jiggling the mouse with my hand. Come on, come on, come on. A few days ago, I sent Riley’s doctor a message on the patient portal, a few questions about upcoming labs and potential patterns. Sometimes parenting a child with epilepsy, especially while adjusting meds, feels like […]
302
May 17, 2019
I look down the row all the way to my three babies, now all taller than me–my girls, their legs curving in all the same places as mine, Adam, with shoulders to match Kevin’s. Laser lights stretch across the room like sunbeams. The beat of the music trembles over my cheeks. Even in the darkened […]
303
May 10, 2019
I look at the pictures, pictures of my people and me, and I frown. Is my face really that round? I draw my fingers out toward the edges of the screen, attempting–without luck—to magnify the dark ache in my heart. Why did I have to smile so big? In the picture, my eyes look like […]
304
Apr 26, 2019
Early morning and the world still new, I walk along the sidewalk, testing the breeze against my cheeks. I wonder if my skin glows, picking up the last gently fading hues of sunrise. On break from crawling traffic and from the hurry hurry usually right on my heels, I find joy in life less defined […]
305
Apr 19, 2019
Rain dots the windshield. Soft new light scatters over the sticky pollen haze, glistening through the baptismal weather. We pull into the parking lot at school, where kids and teachers already work in community, industriously rolling wheelbarrows and large, wheeled trash cans, plunging shovels and rakes into mountains of mulch. They pause to acknowledge us […]
306
Apr 12, 2019
I open the door to my war room–just enough so I can step in–and survey the damage. Extra lamps clutter the floor, making saucer-sized indentations in the carpet. The idea stings–that this would be the room where light sources go into storage. Boxes stuffed and consigned to donation sit against the wall, covering over the […]
307
Apr 5, 2019
“I’m gonna cry,” Riley says, just as her voice begins to break. A bewildered sigh escapes, and she absently touches her own cheek, as though to catch tears that haven’t yet dripped. She has just begun to tell our small group what happened to her, about the seizure that took her from school to the […]
308
Mar 29, 2019
“I’m scared,” Riley says, tears brimming in her tired eyes. I can see angry capillaries traveling like tributaries from the corners; the ocean of her grief swallows them. I want to sweep her tears away; I want to take her hand and run away from this day, this place. “To get your blood drawn?” I […]
309
Mar 22, 2019
Just home in the afternoon, her cheeks sun-warm, Riley pauses in front of me. She smells of tree bark and budding flowers, of grass crushed underfoot, even though as far as I know she’s only just walked from the car to the door. She brings the whole world through our front door, and with it […]
310
Mar 15, 2019
From where I lay, I can see only the rough, flat nap of the businesslike carpet and legs rising up out of tennis shoes I would not have noticed except for the change in perspective. The therapy table has a triangular cutout for my face; they have cushioned it with a sky blue towel. I […]