Again

you hold your breath; you hope it doesn’t happen again

you scramble for ground to stand on; everything’s turned grey

there is no one to guide you; but prayers are offered

was it just Thursday night when everything was so normal?

it was still the before and we laughed together on the couch

we had concert tickets for Friday night; had we finally arrived
at normal?

3:50 am, Friday morning, the “Daddy” cry comes and it’s not
just another nightmare

fever, sore ear–same ear that endured five hour surgery to remove
cholesteatoma* five months earlier; he can’t hear out of ear
again
again
again

wait for 8:00 am; phone call blitz to appropriate doctors,
nurse practitioners; two trips to pharmacy; get antibiotics
so we can wait again out here in the land of not normal

later, the world is awash in grief for France, and so am I.
awash in grief for us all; the uncontrollable of life
is highlighted
again
again
again

waiting for love to conquer all; waiting for hope to
transplant the dread; we fall to sleep that night with our
boy tucked between us

feeling for his fever all night long, I don’t sleep
as you predicted; I want to keep him safe always
I want to know surgeries and terror strikes are done

I want to laugh with you on the couch,
again.

Heidi Fettig Parton

*More information on cholesteatoma.

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