Unexpectedly spending time bedside in a hospital room filled with white-noise where hope floats and sinks alternately, voices raise and lower, hands are held and later, released..
Bedrest at 21 weeks catches my breath.
Can he possibly be so young that even his grandma's embrace would chaff?
Daddy darts, here, there.
Runs home to feed the dog, get some clothes, lock up.
Under the angry skies of a tornado watch, he slips off the highway.
Grass, sky, grass, sky, a kaleidoscope of colors as he flips repeatedly.
Corn field landing.
Such a heavy, heavy heart.
The seatbelt does its job.
Friends do their job.
Mama does her job.
We all wait.