A Hundred Little Wings


My friend Heather posted this on Facebook, about 5 minutes ago:
Maybe it isn't a diamond bullet that will fix this. Maybe its a hundred little things, with a hundred little wings that will move you.
We're ok, relatively. We're reeling, but still standing (if holding on for support). We (we, really Patrick, and then I do what I can to support him) have to process complicated information quickly, and then time drags on again. There's almost no control to this, which I suppose should surprise no one.

We're not sleeping, we're feeling kind of sick, we're trying to hold it together for the sake of Beatrix. We're behind on a hundred things, and if you are the hundred-and-first, please forgive us.

The little things help. Cleaning the bathroom. The flowers and plant that arrived at our door. Coffee with friends. Little gifts dropped off with heart. A delicious dinner, delivered with heartfelt love. People over for patio night. Our steadfast neighbor, the best defense lawyer in the state and likely the country, going to bat for us again and again. Cookies made by Beatrix's friend and her mom, with a comment that "They are not friends, they ARE family!" Donations made to mental health groups.

And above all, the stories. So many stories of so many people with far too similar situations, almost always stories that have been rarely shared. So much pain. So many people who understand exactly where we are.

I don't know how long this will go on; I fear a long time. But I know that I would not have made it this far without all of you. Thank you.

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