I spent 5 hours in the ER today. I'm fine, it seems, but a new fear was awakened in me. What if something happens to me?
As I sat in my chair before we left, feeling a little lightheaded and just not quite right with my left arm tingling like crazy and my face starting to tingle, I watched Kathleen and thought about not seeing her grow up, about not being there for her, about what I would miss, but about her not having me. Somehow in the web of worries I had before she was born and those panicked moments when you think maybe the baby is just too still—and even as I watched my sister-in-law dying and having to say goodbye to her kids— it never occurred to me that something might happen to me.
I hugged that girl extra tight when we picked her up from my friend's house, and even though I hustled her through dinner and a bath and her bedtime routine, I snuggled her extra before tucking her into bed. I want to see my baby girl grow up. It sounds so simple, doesn't it?