A Letter, Re-written

It's hard to believe that it's been nearly a year since I wrote my first letter to a passerby.

Last week, in the midst of everything, I had the chance to re-write that message. And in the end, it wasn't I that delivered help or hope, it was a stranger.

I was traveling along the expressway on Wednesday morning when I passed by a man, his arms frantically waving a newspaper wrapped in a red tie, running alongside of his car, which was emitting smoke from the engine. 

Small Truths & Bright Shining Ones

Yesterday I was conducting an intake with a new client; part of those sessions involve a brief review of their medical history.

"Is there any significant medical history within your family that should be noted"? I asked, poised, ready to note his response, already looking ahead to the next question.

"I'm not sure. I didn't know my parents. I was adopted, so I really have no idea of anything that runs in the families of them. I'm assuming diabetes, since they say the form that I have is most likely genetic".

I wasn't ready for that. I wasn't ready for the feeling in my stomach that accompanied his words, and while I always carry a picture of the Queens with me in my mind when I'm working, I wasn't ready for the picture of Little A that surfaced in that moment.

Readers Beware! Danger! Protect Your Children!

There had been whispers before in the scientific world, but last night a brutal attack in our home confirmed scientists worst suspicions: the horrifying Pen Spider does, in fact, exist. It is not merely lore recited around Bunsen burners outside of tents on summer nights. Following is what I've learned in the first twelve hours since the brutal attack:

This spider is wily and brilliant, amazingly smart for having a brain the size of a spec of sand.

The first mode of his multi-faceted attack is to render the victim suspiciously quiet. He then proceeds to crawl up and down the legs of the victim, marking her with his fangs. (His fangs are not actually teeth, but rather pen, thus leaving proof of his attack with ink, not red bite marks)

After tattooing the victim, who is still apparently unable to use her voice box, he then places stickers upon her body and what is left of her hair. (Instead of having silk to weave webs, he carries stickers in that sac instead).


Apparently, the only way to end the viciousness of this spiders attack is to have someone open the bedroom door. Upon a parental figure in the doorway, this spider slips away into the night, untraceable, despite the best efforts of the Servant to find it, all the while, the poor victim chanting, over and over, "I scared. The spider scary. He got me. He got me. I no get me. The spider did."

Fortunately, I got in touch with someone from National Geographic who told me that there is an anti-dote for the spider bites, and that it must be administered within ten hours of the attack (we just made the deadline). This expert said that some substance in Powdered Sugar Doughnuts can erase all effects of the attack. (Luckily, we had some in our cupboard).

I have to go now and primp (National Geographic is on the way. I'm assuming that we'll be featured in a special on this monster, the scenes re-enacted by far better looking actors than us. I'll keep you posted as to the airing time).

I just wanted to take a few moments and warn all of you of the dangers that this creature poses to your children. Be on the look-out people. And let me know if you have any sightings, then I can send the N.G. crew your way once they are done here.

Three

Three, Little A.

Can you believe it?

To think that once upon a time, three was such a questionable number. Three minutes? Three hours? Three days? Three weeks?

And now, three years.

I should have known from the start what a fighter you were, Little A. All the odds that you've already overcome to be here now, lighting up so many worlds with the sunshine from your sweet face.

To think that sometimes now I struggle, not with prayers for your next breath, not with tears of wondering what your future holds, but with tears of joy for the moments that your smile catches me unprepared and leaves me struggling for my next breath--I'm so filled with such complete love for you that at times, I'm literally crushed.

You are my constant reminder, Little A, of how the darkest storms can create the brightest rainbow, of how the despite what common sense and logic might say, that if we listen to what our hearts are whispering to us, we can make it.

And made it, we have, haven't we, sunshine?

Everything about you: your independence, your wit, your laughter, your heart--everything about you makes me such a grateful person, each and every single day of my life.

There are so many eloquent quotes and writings denoting how much a mother gives when she gives life. Someday, possibly, I'll explain to you what life you gave to me; how, in some ways, you saved me, you re-created me.

I love you Little A, so much more that what I can tell you here, or when I'm kissing your face, or embracing you, or smoothing your hair.

I love you beyond love.

And no matter the days or years that pass, no matter the changes that will occur, that will remain as such.