Fever

Uta is sick. His eyes are glazed with fever, his body brewing something too big to handle, he has slept the entire day. It is not a peaceful rest, but more of a struggle, like his body has been hijacked and he is forced to sleep at gun point. Some internal force is pulling him down to do battle. I host a vigil at his side, checking his temperature with my palm, providing sips of juice in the brief moments that he surfaces. 

I wish that I could be sick for him, let whatever has invaded his body run its course through my old weathered system instead. But I can't. And I'm sure its not the last time I will want to absorb some hurt of his into my own calloused self, be it physical or otherwise, disappointments await, heart break, loss. Can you tell I haven't slept? Exhaustion makes me more than a little bit melodramatic. But no one tells you how heartbreaking motherhood is. And sometimes loving someone so deeply is just more than I can bear.