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.