“That’s why I wish you’d just be my mom sometimes.”
I wanted to explain why I watched, why I
packed, and why I checked.
Instead, I let the silence stay.
Later, I sat beside her.
“What do you want your first day to look like?”
“A half day. No big welcome thing.”
I sat beside her.
“No telling everyone to be gentle with me.”
“And you’re not standing outside my classroom.”
“Okay, honey. We can do that.”
The night before her first half day, Alice complained of a headache.
Every alarm inside me went off.
I checked her temperature, followed the guidance we’d been given, and contacted her care team when appropriate instead of inventing new rules from fear.
Nothing suggested an emergency.
By morning, she felt better.
Alice complained of a headache.
Still, I put the hospital bag in the trunk.
