I imagine it must all feel a bit surreal, the beeps and beats, hushed time ticking by, the world outside like a fiction, just now and now and now. Keep writing it down. It reads like a lifeline, an insistence on art, for Sophie. For us, too.
Poor Sophie, poor Elizabeth. Sophie looks so little in that bed and there are far too many machines. I can't say anything that will make this better, only that this would be my greatest fear, Katie in ICU, with a trach. Sending love to you both.
As one who once believed, this poem is stunning. As are your words, here now, during these most treacherous of days. I understand the surreal nature of hours spent watching and waiting in hospitals, their white walls, bells and whistles, the clang of metal on metal. The gut wrench in your stomach, the ache in your heart. So hard for you both to be going through this - all over again. So cruel.
There was a plaza with a fountain in the middle, where they had an annual Easter parade for kids. And I took my two sisters, put them on top of the fountain with the other kids, and round and round they went. They were so happy.
Thank you for taking the time to give us an update… And so beautifully, lyrically, rhythmically written. Love the poem as well. Funny thing about Easter. I’m Jewish and I grew up in a community with a very large catholic presence (Irish/Italian). I always felt left out on Easter Sunday when kids would get new clothes and parade around, showing them off. Not ostentatiously. So, as a high school kid, use the money from babysitting etc., and bought my two sisters Easter outfits, including a coat, a hat, shoes, and gloves. And I took them to a neighborhood called Parkchester, which was adjacent to the neighborhood, where we lived in the Bronx in the Castle Hill projects.
Thank you for updating us, even though I wanted to read that Sophie is much better and is either back home or nearly there. I won't say "Keep strong", which is what I am told so often. I'll just wish Sophie a speedy recovery and for you and your family a return to your "normal" routine asap.
I keep rereading that poem. It feels so very like your own writing, and of the man gentle with the trash can lid (how many people take that kind of care?).
What a strange and yet, to you, familiar world. I don't have any words, not really, just that I am sure Sophie feels your love for her even amidst the machinery.
I imagine it must all feel a bit surreal, the beeps and beats, hushed time ticking by, the world outside like a fiction, just now and now and now. Keep writing it down. It reads like a lifeline, an insistence on art, for Sophie. For us, too.
Your writing is like some marvelous hidden egg we find in the grass when no one not even the dog is looking.
Poor Sophie, poor Elizabeth. Sophie looks so little in that bed and there are far too many machines. I can't say anything that will make this better, only that this would be my greatest fear, Katie in ICU, with a trach. Sending love to you both.
That poem. ❤️
Oh honey. Love to you all.
Rebecca
As one who once believed, this poem is stunning. As are your words, here now, during these most treacherous of days. I understand the surreal nature of hours spent watching and waiting in hospitals, their white walls, bells and whistles, the clang of metal on metal. The gut wrench in your stomach, the ache in your heart. So hard for you both to be going through this - all over again. So cruel.
There was a plaza with a fountain in the middle, where they had an annual Easter parade for kids. And I took my two sisters, put them on top of the fountain with the other kids, and round and round they went. They were so happy.
Happy Easter dear Elizabeth.
Thank you for taking the time to give us an update… And so beautifully, lyrically, rhythmically written. Love the poem as well. Funny thing about Easter. I’m Jewish and I grew up in a community with a very large catholic presence (Irish/Italian). I always felt left out on Easter Sunday when kids would get new clothes and parade around, showing them off. Not ostentatiously. So, as a high school kid, use the money from babysitting etc., and bought my two sisters Easter outfits, including a coat, a hat, shoes, and gloves. And I took them to a neighborhood called Parkchester, which was adjacent to the neighborhood, where we lived in the Bronx in the Castle Hill projects.
They had a fountain in the middle of the pro
Thank you for updating us, even though I wanted to read that Sophie is much better and is either back home or nearly there. I won't say "Keep strong", which is what I am told so often. I'll just wish Sophie a speedy recovery and for you and your family a return to your "normal" routine asap.
I keep rereading that poem. It feels so very like your own writing, and of the man gentle with the trash can lid (how many people take that kind of care?).
What a strange and yet, to you, familiar world. I don't have any words, not really, just that I am sure Sophie feels your love for her even amidst the machinery.
❤️🩹🙏🏻❤️