When my babies hurt, an uninviting warmth spreads over me that I can feel in my blood, my face, and my hands. I want to help. I want to rush. Sometimes I panic. Depending on the circumstances, sometimes I'm angry.
Today my baby hurt but she had no fight, not like I've seen before. By her side, I saw her eyes were empty, and her spirit defeated. Ghosted. I grabbed her hand and she didn't squeeze tight like she normally would. Cecilia isnt herself right now. It's not because she isn't a fighter anymore. I know she'll be back with a bang.
Today my other babies hurt. Far, far away at home, where I can't be. I fell apart. My babies hurt and I can't hold their hand. I can't stick up for them the way I crave. I just want to be there for them.
I've only been gone for 9 days. We got a bit to go, and I have to keep it together. But when my babies hurt, I hurt. Everytime. Even when they don't respond. And especially when they do.