Ink Stained Soul…

I didn’t want to be strong today. The familiar tone of a doctor when news was coming. Knowing that whatever is being said, you must listen and not react. Seeing my baby on the table, unaware what this means. She isn’t 8 months old anymore—this time she’s closer to 15 years old. Words, words you didn’t ever expect to hear again. Failure to thrive. I didn’t want to be strong. The shadows of our past coming to have another shot at us. To try and take my baby girl. Blood work, possible spinal issues, stunted growth, implications of long term damage. As if autism and other medical issues haven’t stolen enough. I didn’t want to be strong, but for her I was.