The pain of bearing pain for your children is agony. I look back on times in my life that I thought I was in "crisis", and all else pales in comparison to seeing devastation occur that had been entirely preventable. You're watching someone drive a car into their bodies and injure them. You can't move fast enough to throw yourself in front of it.
He sits there, "fake smiling", telling me he feels happy. He is only four, and he already knows that the world wants him to show that things are okay rather than real. I can save him from that thought. I can teach him different. I can't throw my body in front of the carwreck of this. The wreck already happened. I can only tend to his wounds, and make it okay to bleed a bit. I can minimize the scarring.
I'm so very, very angry. I'm an adult. I will live. He's a child.
That bastard.
Harriet.
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