I was in the kitchen, mindlessly putting things away as the boys and a neighborhood friend chattered away in the background, when my phone rang. It was a number I always pick up, without even thinking (and I am a shameless call-screener). Seconds later I was in my bedroom with the door locked, straining to hear Lindsay's voice through her tears, trying to comprehend the fact that Brian- 32 years old, brilliant, kind, hilarious and invincible- had had a heart attack.
Later, Eric and I fell asleep with our phones in our hands and tears in our eyes, waiting for news about how he was doing. The news has come- some good, some scary, mostly partial answers for now. This afternoon, I stood in the kitchen again, watching the kids draw pictures to send in the mail. Marley had the glitter glue out and was squeezing it with abandon, all over her card and the table. My protests died in my throat and I said a small prayer:
Please, please. Let all of our love and prayers go with that glitter. Let them span the country to that hospital room holding some of the dearest people in the world to us. Let all the babies and graduations, the Christmases and beach trips, the weekends in the mountains, the talks late at night, the dinners and the everyday moments we have shared for all of these years- let them all be there in that room, in that heart.