Finding Home

Our Rx? Love.

Raising Daughters. Good morning everyone from gloomy Vermont. It’s been a hellish week here. Serena’s health took a turn for the worst, and we were on our own in terms of treatment. Her team of doctors don’t have on-call hours. Nor could we bring her to the ER (there, chronic Lyme doesn’t exist). So we were the ICU. We were the ER. There’s not a doctor or nurse among us here at the Kent home. Imagine the fear of watching your daughter have seizures through the night and the next day. Imagine having to be that girl who experiences them. Our Rx? Love.

I sat with her for many hours, telling her how brave she was, how things would be better soon, how one day she would fly right out of our house to do and see amazing feats of wonder. I sanitized and refilled her three water bottles. We ran detox Epsom salts baths for her. Held her feverish head. Soothed her brow. We fed her healthy food and snacks. I slept in a cot beside her, reaching out for her hand when her body went numb.

In her better moments, we shopped on Poshmark (a used clothing website) and talked the virtues of Tiny Houses. We got through. Minute by minute we got through. And now it’s Sunday morning, the start of my work week. I got more sleep last night, and hopefully, Serena did too. We’ll find out soon enough, when my husband brings her breakfast.

Somehow during this difficult time I wrote several more pages of Quill Point, and am now in the 130s. Twenty more pages brings me to half the book done. That’s something, anyway. I’ve been thinking a lot of the depth of anguish and love I feel for my daughters, and I find that level of emotion lacking in Quill Point. What’s the bridge of language that will help you all recognize in Eva what I felt this past week? Any suggestions?

Check back next week for another segment of Finding Home.


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2 thoughts on “Our Rx? Love.

  1. Kelly F on said:

    “What’s the bridge of language that will help you all recognize in Eva what I felt this past week? Any suggestions?”

    The only thing that would show that anguish for me would be what I think I would do; holding my child and crying while remembering rocking that same child to sleep as a baby, amazed that I was entrusted with such an incredible little life. Every little rise and fall of rhythmic breath was a treasure. I would be remembering all of that and then feeling the torment of the present with mixed emotions and trying to move past that whirlwind to glimpse hopes for the future – a future as simple as one hour away, then one day, one week, one month…..

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