One of my very favorite mommy-bloggers is, as I write this, waiting for her daughter to come out of liver transplant surgery, while regretting that she is unable to be home for her other daughter's birthday tomorrow.
I think almost every day about the catastrophes that could befall Dutch. It makes me want to lock her up with me in a closet. Probably the only thing that keeps me from doing this* is the fact that we would make each other furiously insane within 20 minutes in the closet.**
Anyway, I'm so sorry that this stranger (who writes about her family with such a funny, deft touch) is suffering through something unimaginably scary to me. I sifted through my feelings about it a little - there's definitely a little bit of "phew, I'm glad that isn't me!" which is unpleasantly gloaty, and I'd like to get rid of that. There's also a resonating empathy for how difficult and terrifying it is to be a parent, to spend your life watching your child risk and experience fear and pain and sorrow. I am grateful that Dutch has come home safe and (almost) intact every day of her life so far, with only minor emotional and physical scarring, and I wish that every parent could have the same. So tonight I am thinking of Annika, and her parents, and of the family of the child who gave the liver in question.
* I mean OTHER than the fact that it would OBVIOUSLY be a ridiculous thing to do. Obviously.
** And she's not even a teenager yet! She's precocious. Or I am.
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We are alive! Not much to report. Cook has a new job, still in government, but doing a different kind of work. I have the same job. Duchess ...
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