A few years back I was burnt out and washed up from looking after other people's kids when a little fireball danced into my life.
She was feisty and formidable. A slip of a thing made from a heart laced in gold. She reminded me of why I chose the job of loving kids whose walls were designed to keep me out. There were only two I loved deeply and completely on sight. She was the second one.
Can we keep her? I whispered to my son.
Now that fireball is in a fight for her life. Critical, a condition that oscillates from bad to worse and back again.
Grief and crisis move in concentric circles. The object of our affection in the middle. Family next, closest to their dearest. Then the best of friends. It spins outward to those on the fringes. I know well what it is to have that sacred centre intruded upon.
So I accept my seat at the back. Sending waves of how that kid made my heart swell way back when. They join with others on their way through, gathering momentum. Becoming a rising tide of tenderness and care as they make their way in. Thoughts and prayers and strength wrapped in tears, sent as ripples of love.
Is that enough do you think? Faith in collective love? God I hope it is.
All words and pictures are my own. Some of my content may have been previously published in one of more of the following locations: