I hear stirring on the deck. Matthew is carefully lifting Rose up, wrapped in her blankets. He brings her to the car and lays her on the gurney. Normally, I would help, but COVID renders me useless. Resting a hand on Roses’s head, he says to me without turning, “you’re an angel.”
For the briefest second, I entertain saying “tell my kids that.” Angel is not a word I think I’ve EVER been called, not in 41 years. I am many things, but angelic is not one of them. Still, I am honored that they see me as such.
It’s ok that I’m not perfectly patient and understanding and sympathetic every minute. Even if Hazel does have cancer. It’s ok that I’m angry on the inside and stressed and didn’t want to play Go Fish. It’s ok. It’s ok. It’s ok.
Recently, I’ve constantly thought about control. It’s an illusion. We have absolutely none. My son died and taught me that. My daughter was diagnosed with leukemia and reminded me. COVID19 shuts down the world, and I scream “OK I GET IT, UNIVERSE! NO CONTROL!” Most of the time, I am able to hold the knowledgeContinue reading “The bubble”