Knowing

What words do you offer a friend who is losing his child? How do you comfort that which is unfathomable to yourself? Tears run down my face, both with the love I have for this sweet family and with the sorrow of watching them walk this path. We need a miracle...

Please. Please. Please.

Tomorrow Max turns Nine. Nine years ago I gave birth. I was in labor on this day, nine years ago. Nine years ago, I became a mother. Nine years ago our family went from two to three. Nine years from now, Max will graduate from high school. Nine years from now, he will go to college and leave home. Nine is the middle point. Nine is hard to digest.

Help me. Help me. Help me.

The phone call came back with, "She needs to come in for a follow up mammogram." I reassure her it is routine and will come to nothing. How many times have I received that same phone call. Two? Three? Always a non-existent threat. Still I worry...

Please. Please. Please.

I am supposed to be saying positive affirmations for my performance on the test. That is what they say. Keep repeating, " I am calm and confident during the test." But I don't feel calm, nor confident about much right now. I feel adrift and floating in the middle of a stormy sea. The anchor is long gone. I am waiting for the clarity. The fog to lift up and the sun to show through.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.