Z came home Monday and told me about a lockdown drill they had in her first grade class that morning. The children were instructed to crouch silently on the floor against the wall by the coats "so that the robbers couldn't see or hear us and come and rob us."
I wanted to write about the conversation we had at bedtime about "bad guys" and why people do terrible things but I didn't know where to start or how to end it or what to do with the heartbreak in the middle. The post didn't work because I didn't know how to process it, couldn't get my head and heart around the enormity of it all.
Today, I paid many benjamins to replace all four tires on my car, found out my one credit card was compromised and summarily cancelled, and discovered, during a visit to the pediatrician that included one girl having to be physically restrained just to get a swab in her throat and the other girl tumbling off the exam table, bonking her head and then peeing all over me - that both my girls have strep throat for the THIRD TIME THIS MONTH.
I tried to write a funny post about today. It didn't work.
It didn't work because the backdrop to all these frustrations and challenges is the fact that my dad has transitioned to hospice care. He is home now, semi-lucid, losing his battle with cancer.
Tomorrow, I drive to New Jersey to see my dad, most likely for the last time. I can't imagine what I will say or do besides sit there and cry. I can't comprehend how to even begin to look at this reality through my red, swollen eyes.
This reality, so much of it, is not what I wish it to be.