Skip to main content

dripping

Tobin came to find me; the boys had been playing Mario Kart. His face was grim; his eyes sad. I knew his words before he uttered them. Even still, I waited. I know how important it is to have someone bear this sorrow with you.


He'd held Trevor through a seizure. He'd felt his brother's body pulsing. He tried to talk to him even though he was unresponsive.


My shoulders like lead, I dropped what I was working on. Trevor was sitting Indian style, quiet and placid after the storm, on a turquoise IKEA chair. When he noticed me, he reached his left arm out for a hug. His right arm remained limp at his side. Probably still weak from the seizure.


I wrapped my arms around his little body and asked him if it was over. His head nodded yes against my shoulder. I felt his left hand softly patting my back in a way that seemed as if he were trying to comfort me


These moments are dripping with dread and sweet sadness.


And ever my heart cries out...


Even so come. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

No, I don’t know him personally

  I’ve had several emails today asking if I know Mike W. of Marissa’s Bunny personally.    Trevy’s blog was linked on her site.  Although it’s not now.     I’ve posted here and there at his request.  Because…well…we’re a community.  Us IS families.  And Marissa is wicked cute.  Her daddy has a way with words.  Also who wouldn’t want the world to know about an iPad give-away?    But aside from that…I know about as much as you do.    We’ve never met in person.    Our only communication has been cyber.    I’m a ginormous sap and as such would love to believe that all is right.  That the sweet, beautiful families who were promised iPads will be getting them tonight.  Tomorrow at the latest.  That no one has been lied to.  That the personal thank you for your generosity email I sent him on behalf of other IS families I’ve grown to love and was thrilled to learn w...

I was talking about you today

That's right. You. Sitting there glued. To the computer screen. Getting your Trevy fix. You who hasn't been able to tear your eyes away. The one who checks back here gobs of times a day. Hanging on every post. Especially the dripping with drama or funny posts. Because you need to either laugh or cry alternately. Just like me. And somewhere...sometime...somehow...over the course of these past couple years... ...you found yourself here. Reading about me. About my family. About my Trevy. And slowly you were drawn in. Until you couldn't help yourself. You were head over heels. Unashamedly addicted. Maybe we connected in a support forum. Perhaps we're old college friends. I know we have family following. Hi guys! Some teachers and therapists. Maybe even a medical professional or two. Perhaps our kids play ball together. We might be FaceBook friends. Or you could be a friend of a friend. Even a complete stranger. But to us... you each have a very special pla...

runaway

I tend to be a live out loud kinda girl. But sometimes... well...sometimes life is just so heavy. So intense. So overwhemling. That it brings out the recluse in me. Like lately. The thing is...I know it'll pass. It always does. And I'll learn something. Grow. Hopefully. Survive. Certainly. Because I have to. It's just right now. In this particular heavy moment. I would much rather run away to some tropical paradise and sip martinis until Jonathan calls to tell me Trevy's back at home. Happy. And seizure free. With a new head of curls covering the scar and bouncing around the house. I am a coward after all. I've never denied that. And I really don't want to live through this next month. Which is probably why my posts will be random. At best.