I was brushing my teeth amid this morning’s thunder and lightning. And as in any storm, I quickly went through my checklist of what is connected to what… (I can’t be the only one that for a millisecond still wonders if the water works when the electricity goes out.) You know, like on the occasion when you lose power and think, can I still flush the toilet? 

I suppose it’s all about the panic. Amid the chaos, it’s hard to be certain of things. This is when our real connections have to be so very strong.

Waking from my first surgery, an emergency appendectomy, I had no idea what to expect. That sensation of being lost. Removed from time and space. Not yet in control of all my functions, I must have looked agitated. Eyes darting. Struggling to move my head back and forth. I couldn’t place myself in this sea of bright white. I wanted to run or cry, but I couldn’t seem to do either. That’s when the nurse put her hand on my shoulder. She asked the right and only question. “Is your mom here?” I repeated the words in my head. Said the sentence slowly. It began to make sense. I was unsure of where I was, how I got here, but in this state of panic, I went through my list of connections, and the only answer was yes. Of course my mom would be with me. She always was. I blinked once slowly and smiled.

The morning storm has calmed to a drizzle as I type. The electricity is on. The water still runs. Dominique is reading in the next room. And my mother sits with me. Still.