Sunday, March 10, 2013

That post I didn't write

You think everything is fine. Then, suddenly, you are booking an early morning flight, to rush to the hospital 800 miles away where your daughter was admitted because she'd stopped being able to do much of anything except sleep and cry and wonder why she couldn't feel anything but blackness.

You talk to doctors who want to find an explanation. There is none. You accept that there is not a whole lot you can do except express love and support. You take long walks, try to get enough sleep, and attempt to deal with things one day at a time as you adjust to the new normal wherein nothing is certain anymore.

A year later, you occasionally dare to believe that everything is back on track, that therapy and medication have given your daughter the tools she needs to manage her depression and her responsibilities back at school. But you still go to bed every night fearing the phone will ring.

And you wake up every morning and try to write about the experience, and about the anxiety that you