three little letters
When I think of them, the ones that are so benign, like NBC, IOU, LOL; then the USA, GMO, even SOA, INS, CIA doesn't cause the terror I feel when I hear the doctor today say LCH.
SOS, SOS, SOS!
I'm strolling down the grassy field anticipating another afternoon in the the warm pool of the Pacific Ocean on Pele's big island of Hawaii, carrying the bag with lunch for Tessie, Jasi, Aba and me when the discordant ring of my cell first fills me with dread. I know by the sound it is the doctor with the results of Jasi's biopsies.
I drop back from the rest, searching for seclusion in a palm grove, resting on a lava rock, as I answer, trying to protect my daughter from the news I know I will have to break soon to her.
I fumble into gear to cast huge protection circles with Pele's fire, breathing deep and opening to hear the doctor's dreadful words, to ask the right questions, to grasp the meanings of those three little letters while I frantically search my skills, my ideas to tell my daughter the horrible news: her son has a life-threatening illness.
I glimpse the tiny, sharp portal of possibility my daughter will face the death of her child while I immediately throw all my determination, my wisdom, my knowledge into making sure that doesn't happen. I do not want to even put into words here the thought that my daughter might be faced with such an impossible, horrific journey.