For Tater

You were small once, my oldest. When you came to me, your biggest fear seemed to be getting enough to eat. After numerous therapy sessions and calls to poison control and days/months/years of eating til you got sick, your PICA eventually got under control. Medication helped too, sometimes.

Now your body is big and you do “grownup” things that even grownups shouldn’t do, but your mind and heart are still so small. Your choices destroy everything and everyone in their path (even the people you thought you left far behind), but you’ll never understand because those parts of you aren’t going to grow up. You’re a child in a woman’s world and, despite what happened when you were little, you can’t heal our boo-boos with apologies and kisses.

The world in which you reside is a child’s world. While the rest of us see rapists and muggers, you see vampires and book-thieves. When we look dilapidated buildings, you behold the lair of the Baddie of the Week (dependent upon your choice of medication right then). While we worry about the health and education of your children, you’re concerned about what happened to the Daddy Longlegs you were going to gift your daughter for her birthday.

You are so small still, my oldest. I wish your life (not your years, but your lifestyle) had stayed that way, too.

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