As a child, I would often run very high fevers, especially when we went to the movies. It was absolute coincidence, yet my Dad started to fear taking me to the theatre at all. I don’t remember the pain I was in, but I do remember how my Dad and grandmother cared for me. The lights would be kept dim and my grandmother or dad would sit by me for hours cooling me down with a cold towel, or rubbing alcohol over my arms and legs if the fever ran dangerously high. This was many years ago, yet I still remember how they cared for me as a little girl and how safe and loved I felt.

About a month ago I ran a very high fever and was in so much pain that I honestly wanted to die. It came suddenly as I was walking Drew, or she was waking me as I like to say. (She’s my loving companion.) I started shaking uncontrollably, shivering and could barely stand straight. Drew looked at me seeming to notice something was off and headed back home very slowly, almost leading me. When I finally made it to bed I was in so much pain from the fever that I wept. I couldn’t remember having had such a high fever as a grown up before. It was so high I found myself calling my grandmother and dad in a whisper, just as I used to when I was sick as a child. Back then when I knew that comfort would come and all would be well.

Now, I felt desperately lonely and sad. This was probably the loneliest I’d felt in a very long time; this undeniable loneliness one feels when one is sick and realizes there is nobody to help or hold your hand. Nobody to comfort you, make you feel safe and tell you it’s all going to be alright.

Now, as a grown woman, I am often reminded, especially in rough times, of how much love and care I was given as a child.