April 05, 2011

The Pain in Knowing

I see the moment you realize where you're off to school the day and you transform.  And I hurt for you.

You become this weepy, moaning, struggling girl who seconds ago was giggling at her sister's breakfast antics.  I ache in sympathy.

You rub your stomach, complain of a sore throat.  Dawdle through your breakfast knowing I will show concern for your well being.  I just want to snuggle you up and keep you safe.

Yesterday I let you stay home for part of the morning.  I wasn't as aware yesterday and I'm sorry.

Today I'm awake so I clue in.  I know what this is.  I was in your shoes 20 years ago.

So I hug and kiss you.  I smooth the hair back from your forehead.  I wish I could make this easier for you, for me, for all of us.  Knowing what and why this is doesn't make it any easier.  I want to roar and stomp and change everything for you.

Instead I make your lunch, I help you pack your backpack.  We don our coats and head out the door early.

My heart breaks and bleeds for you.

I don't know how to make this better.


  1. awww poor baby. Glad you know what's going on, but just as you say it doesn't always help.

    Sending good thoughts Turtle's (and your) way.

  2. Thanks Lee. I'm happy to report that her teacher was (and is!) as concerned as me. We're waiting to see how the next two weeks to see if it gets any better or worse. Then we have another plan in mind.