We arrive at the hospital emergency room, and wait the required distance from the admissions desk until it is our turn, and I have to tell the nurse why we are here. My daughter made suicide threats, I whisper.
She nods and takes my insurance card and gestures toward the waiting area.
I sit on a sofa, facing the vast windows that let in what little light Seattle has to offer this time of year. The Child sits next to me.
I wonder if putting an arm around her will make her angry, or if not putting an arm around her set her off, so I do neither, and pat her arm lightly instead.
A nurse arrives and takes her behind the doors to the triage area, and then I am sitting alone, breathing disinfected air, staring past the corporate Christmas tree at the looming sky outside.
Dear Sprung at Last,
Hope all is well with you and your daughter. Hang in there 😉
Thank you so much for your kind thoughts.
You are killing me here. Please tell us the rest of the story and, most especially, tell us she’s all right.
Sorry Stacy! There is much more to this story, coming over the next week or so. Thank you for your kind concern.