Dog-eyed 5

I close my eyes and trace the profiles of my children. The contours of their faces, the shape of their eyes, the warm cookie smell of their hair.

Missing them is the most intense helplessness. They are out there breathing, sleeping, eating, and grieving without me.

I know Lisa will be there and Sam will keep them safe. But each minute I am away from them is hell.

This is almost what hell feels like. Hell lite–same grim torment, half the calories.

I want them back. I want to unspool time, unadopt Cash, heed some omen that would have warned us-dangerous with children. if only I had known he was capable of this great harm.

And the rumble of the turbine in my mind—please let her live. Please let her live. Please let her live.

I struggle with hate. The sentence floats up with the pain–I hate him/hate him/hate him. But I know what this really means

How could you do that to her?
How could you do that to a baby?
How could you do this to us?

Two minutes of animal force and you have harmed so many lives.

A baby.
An innocent baby
My baby

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