We are at the children's hospital and I'm holding Dexter, trying to get him to sleep. He's working too hard to breathe, and the epinephrine masks aren't lasting the required two hours for him to get discharged.
He's not in crisis mode but the staff her are taking it seriously enough to have admitted him over night.
As I gently rub his arm to coax his fluttering eyelids to close I notice that it isn't my hand oscillating along his tiny arm, it's my father's.
I don't know when it happened, but at some point in the last, oh I don't know, twenty years, my hands turned into my father's, fewer scars, fewer stains, marred by much less hard work, but they look the same. The same bony wrinkly knuckles, the same reddish hairs and freckles. The tip of my pinky even turns inward the same way his does. It's scary and reassuring at the same time.
I wonder if he was ever as worried about me as I am now about Dexter, or when Delilah had her MRI, or when Clarisse had her kidney infection, or Caleb first developed asthma. I put on a brave face, but so often I'm scared out if my wits, I'm left wondering if he did the same.
I'll have to ask him about it next time I see him.
Dexter is on the mend. He's sleeping soundly now. His breathing easier. My worry has subsided for now. Another crisis averted.
Maybe that was his trick, take it one crisis at a time.
He's not in crisis mode but the staff her are taking it seriously enough to have admitted him over night.
As I gently rub his arm to coax his fluttering eyelids to close I notice that it isn't my hand oscillating along his tiny arm, it's my father's.
I don't know when it happened, but at some point in the last, oh I don't know, twenty years, my hands turned into my father's, fewer scars, fewer stains, marred by much less hard work, but they look the same. The same bony wrinkly knuckles, the same reddish hairs and freckles. The tip of my pinky even turns inward the same way his does. It's scary and reassuring at the same time.
I wonder if he was ever as worried about me as I am now about Dexter, or when Delilah had her MRI, or when Clarisse had her kidney infection, or Caleb first developed asthma. I put on a brave face, but so often I'm scared out if my wits, I'm left wondering if he did the same.
I'll have to ask him about it next time I see him.
Dexter is on the mend. He's sleeping soundly now. His breathing easier. My worry has subsided for now. Another crisis averted.
Maybe that was his trick, take it one crisis at a time.
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