SIckness Like a Highway
I somehow thought taking Titus along to his appointments at Mayo would leave me primed for words. My intentions were grand, and I really did lean into scenes like poetry was about to happen, but every intention turned into my back flat on a bed. After days of running in boots for miles through skywalk and subway, I could feel my heart beating in my stomach and my knees. Even still Minnesota and Mayo Clinic treated us well. Titus was a rowdy bounce of a kid who had no idea he was supposed to be sick. He would sing to the 16th floor: “Mina Sota. Mina Sota. Mina Sota,” and he would climb into my lap as we spent hours in waiting rooms. Repeatedly, he would stand on my knees, hold my hands and then fall straight back laughing. Will you catch me or not, Mama? He laughs even as I go wild eyed. He knows I will always run to him. He only slows down when they take his blood. These are the crazy things. When you don’t know how you’ll walk another mile, you say thank you that we’re walking and we don’t know how. Turn another corner. It’s a miracle.