I miss my handwriting. I miss doodling on the margins of a page and filling in the answers to a crossword puzzle and sending a thank you note and making lists. I miss dancing and real hugs and opening doors and swinging my legs over the side of the bed and putting my feet on the ground.

Last night Scarlett was in my lap reading herself a book. Her hair is down to the middle of her back and it ends in rings of gold. All I could do was look at that glittery hair against her little brown back. My hands won’t even rise high enough to touch her. It is heartbreak. I want to hold her so much that my stomach hurts and I feel a quickening in my chest. I have shed enough tears over this to generate my own weather pattern, and still my body won’t accept the fact that it can’t reach for this person it created.

I am becoming increasingly breathless, and my tongue is twitching inside my mouth as if electrified. It is horrifying to watch, just one more muscle growing weaker and caving in, the whole thing looking like a worn down soccer field full of divots waiting to trap an ankle and snap it. I can still talk, still swallow. But my whole body is tired, and my brain races with ideas that I could never realize.

These are true things. But there are other true things that are significantly more uplifting. Read More>