A Day When Everything Makes Me Think of You
With a pang of guilt I confess you are no longer my first thought when coming down the stairs each morning. I don't think of medications to prepare, formula to mix, and diapers to change. I don't always look at your picture in your special corner and say "good morning." Nor do I play your Pandora station every day. It makes me sad, and I don't want to feel empty. This morning I leave for work as always — a few minutes later than I had "planned." I turn on the radio and catch the weekly news round-up from 1A on NPR — Roe v Wade, the January 6th attack... I decide to play some music instead. It's an old CD with worship songs from Woodland Hills, the church which was my refuge after you were born. I think of you. I get to work and head to my first assignment. A boy about your age is getting his GJ tube changed in radiology, like you before the central line was placed. I watch him on the table, the trach protruding from his neck. You would have needed on