He cries out, awakened from sleep, and I know somehow. My stomach drops down and I go to him quickly, pushing corn-silk soft hair from feverish brow. Not again. These chronic ear infections are like a plague to us. Could it be he has another one? Before I’ve even called the doctor, I am in the hospital, by his bedside, waiting for him to wake up from his surgery. They’ve promised that if he gets his seventh double ear infection in six months it will be time for tubes and I’m already there. Daydreaming all it will mean for him and for us and for our bank account and…. The thought trails off. Not again, please.
It’s a prayer and a whisper and a hope and an oft-denied tide of anger that washes over me before I can even mean it. Not again. I do everything right and I take him to the chiropractor and he doesn’t drink dairy and I try lymphatic massage. Please not again. Only say the word and he would be okay.
The whispered invitation is not what I want to hear. Again. Whether it’s teeth or ears or virus or nothing, come again to me. Not because you’ve done it right or I haven’t heard but because right now is the invitation to be with me again. To trust again. To pray again. To lie down in a heap and cry at my feet again.
Yes I’ve found the safest place again. And only if I finally learn to leave my hair down here, to cry these tears on pierced feet here, to pour out the richest gifts from my utter poverty here and stay. Stay. Only in staying will I truly answer this invitation offered again.
Oh Five Minute Friday, you’ve given me back a piece of myself I didn’t know was missing. Can I do two-a-day posts on Friday? http://lisajobaker.com/2013/01/five-minute-friday-again/