The illness that came to visit hubby over Super Bowl weekend decided to linger. It had found a house full of willing hosts. My children. Abra first, Abby second, and last, but not least B.G. From oldest to youngest. Please note, the mother was excluded, again, as usual. All of them ran fevers, ached, and developed a nasty, nasty cough. I hate to see my children sick and miserable. I brought them blankets and pillows, snuggled them up on the couch or lazy boy, brought them tea, took their temps often so they could keep track, and watched movies.
Of all of them, it is hardest for me to see Abby sick. It's heartbreaking. To understand this, one must know the child. She is ALIVE. She is DRAMA. Life exudes from her every pore. And most especially from her eyes. From the moment her feet hit the floor in the morning until her little motor finally, finally runs down at night, this child is LIVING HUGELY. And when she is sick, the LIFE is gone. The pure spirit and life that comes out of her eyes is totally missing. Dull, listless, glazed. The only thing that keeps my heart from totally breaking is the fact that she will snuggle with me when she is sick. She does not snuggle. Very primp and proper hugs and few purrs, and that's it. But when she is sick, she actually snuggles her whole body up next to mine. That is a gift to be forever treasure.
This morning I was asking what they all wanted for breakfast. I heard Abby's voice answering: pancakes, an omelet, waffles with extra whipped cream and strawberries, a smoothie with a swirly straw, and candy. Before I even turned around I knew what I would see. LIFE! BIG HUGE LIFE. She's on the mend. Except for that damned cough. She's is back with the living, keeping us in smiles.
