Sitting with the unprevented pain

On Sunday, my family and I traveled two hours north to Flagstaff, AZ, to play in the snow for a few days. My youngest daughter (Maeve, 3) burned the middle three fingers on her right hand. She was distraught. I held her hand in the snow and tried not to listen to the voices in my head telling me every way I could have prevented her pain. There was a flurry of getting ointments, bandages, snacks. My husband, my parents, my brother. She cried herself to sleep in my arms.

We didn't know how badly she was burned. We waited.

I sat on the 80s pleather sofa, trying to breathe. She didn't need anything more from me, but I still felt like the worst mother. I could hear the other shoe whistling through the air.

It was the same breath I drew between when I heard there was horrible news. Waiting. And when my husband told me who died. Or when I learned about injury, job loss, custody battle outcome, diagnosis, betrayal.

I said I was stupid. My mom reminded me I tried to prevent the injury, but Maeve insisted on getting closer to the heat. We all insist on getting closer to danger, until it snaps out and bites us. We're learning.

Maeve recovered quickly. Sylvia (5) told her a story, and she laughed. The burn was minor, and she was running around within an hour. The shoe dropped, but this time it was soft.

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Reading: To Write as If Already Dead by Kate Zambreno. Taste Makers by Mayukh Sen. Keeping a Gun In Your Home is Irresponsible by Gabrielle Blair. Amanda Montei's newsletter Mad Woman on gun violence, empathy, and PTSD (paid--consider subscribing to support her writing.) A Homecoming by Amirah Mercer for Eater on how "the wellness industry erases the long — and often radical — history of plant-based diets in the Black diaspora." My friend Victoria Meléndez's newsletter about prophetic imagination and rest.

Writing: Not much. Traveled to the snow and took a few days off.

Cooking: Fried eggs on toast. Frozen pizza. Sautéed zucchini.