Sickness is here for a visit. My boy burns. His body shakes as his teeth grind and the heat releases from his hands. 101,101,101, 104, 101, 99, 103. The cough starts, barking until it hurts in his everywhere. So tired of the cough, he shrinks it to a whisper, but still it overpowers and barks, in defense or on attack.
And I watch. And I question. And I hold. And I stroke. And I rub. And I serve. And I call. And I cradle his too long limbs on my lap through the too long night. My arm deeply sleeping as it holds him upright.
I look and I try to see the fever burning the sickness, boiling the invading germs, doing its job.
And I am overwhelmed by this visitor, who overstays its welcome. My eyes run and my mind invents reasons to feel sad and angry and so very hurt. Reasons outside this home. And with the palm of my hand monitoring the heat, I am less lonely.