I'm standing here stirring syrup because I don't know what else to do. I know I won't sleep. At least, I have syrup.
Martha, an acquaintance of mine, is sitting in a hospital waiting for news of her Husband, father to her tribe, her Chosen. He was in an accident. He may not wake up. He may not breathe on his own. He may never feel anything below his neck even if he does learn to breathe on his own.
I wonder about Martha. How does one wait to hear the fate of your Chosen. Do you pretend to read magazines? Do you check your phone for the trivial bullshit on Facebook?
Is she just staring at her hands?
I doubt I will sleep tonight. But in the very least, as I pray, as I try to keep hope, but feel my heart breaking... At least I have berry juice syrup to stir for my babies to pour on yoghurt in the morning.