Routine Scab

Something has changed recently. I think maybe it's because of Henry's recent episode, which we've deduced with the oncologist, was probably a seizure. Less threatening, but no less frightening. He may have them again but they are likely benign. A relief.

But something is different. I think that seizure out of the blue has removed the scab that routine had grown back over this wound. We're openly bleeding again and it's painful. Every action I take right now is weighted with the perspective of what's to come and I wonder what life will be like in the coming year. When Henry looks at me, I try to drink in his eyes. My stomach twists in knots. I try on a smile, to forget, to get wrapped up in the kids activities again, but the weight is heavy.

I try to recall my own words and thoughts and perspective of just a few weeks ago. Focusing on the moment here and now - there's plenty of time to grieve later. But the elephant is standing in the middle of the room and it's difficult to see around.

I worry for Tara, I worry for the girls. Will I be what they need during this time?

This morning I was lying in bed next to Henry. We were just trying to wake up a bit. It was early. I just reached up to touch his arm.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Henry?"

"That's why it's good that we're nearby."

"Why's that Henry?"

"Because that way we can touch each other. That's why it's good to be nearby."

"Yes, it is Henry."