I can’t be angry at you.

I can’t be angry at you because you don’t know any better. You are what you are and none of us has any control over that. I can be tired as I help you get dressed everyday, putting your splints on and folding your socks over them so they don’t slip down and rub your ankles raw against the hard plastic. I can be frustrated, when you fnish your drink and drop the cup spilling everything and aren’t aware that you’ve made a mess. I can be exasperated, when I am changing your diaper in the bathroom and you turn around to look at me and say hello, not understanding that this isn’t where we exchange pleasantries even if it’s only a look. I can be relieved that you are going to bed at 8 o’clock and feel amused when we turn on your favorite song, then you look at me as if to say, “Isn’t this the greatest song you have EVER heard in your entire life AND we get to listen to it together!” But I cannot be angry with you. Instead, I contain it. I shoulder it like a wet woolen blanket. Heavy and constant, it holds me down with its weight, yet I keep moving. You, as they say, wear your emotions on your sleeve. Mostly happy and content, and only once have I seen you angry with rage as raw as an open sore.

We had Sunday lunch guests. I was looking to impress with my roasted chicken and perfectly grilled tomatoes. I had dressed you in stripes, your outft full of preppy enthusiasm like a young college student. Ridiculous at best, as you were fve. The table set, gravy underway on the stove and the kitchen bursting with aroma and promise. Your enthusiasm for food and bright faces around the table affected us all. Could the day feel any brighter? Our attractive guests, Jackie and Craig, had to be captivated by our ability to function as a ‘normal’ family. Your infectious grin throughout the meal made it the perfect afternoon. After lunch everyone scattered, the guests to share clean up duties in the kitchen, you put in the front room by your father, TV awaiting. I took your older brother upstairs to change muddy socks, his shoes lost in the grass. Sunshine inviting us all to join it outside in the garden.

But your body had other plans and you had a febrile convulsion in front of the television. Nobody knew what was going on and my name was shouted out to get down stairs immediately. I didn’t know what was happening but your father said my name with such urgency I few down the stairs. By the time I got there your ft had stopped and you were lying on the foor, your face red and fustered. No air was getting into your lungs and as I looked at your face you quickly went from red to white with blue lips. It happened as quick as the snap of a fnger, and without thinking I fipped you over and started pounding on your back as hard as I could- thump, thump, thump. I knew I was bruising you badly but I needed to hit you with such force. I turned you over again and just as violently as I struck your back, I thrust my hand down your throat and pulled out what I could fnd. With that I had unblocked your airway and you started to breathe again. Your chest heaving, you had our complete attention. Color rushed back into your face and a scream rose up from your lungs that I had never heard before. It was raw and animalistic. It must have taken all your strength and seemed to come from the deepest part within you. You didn’t sound like an upset toddler, instead, a growling wolf enraged and going into battle for its prey. It was long and powerful, fuelled by pure emotion. You were outraged that this had happened and in your anger I was proud. You are a fghter, a survivor and you will be known.

The ambulance was called and as we explained what had happened the attendants quickly stripped you down to your diaper and told us what we had just witnessed. Jackie, with the long beautiful dark hair, found you a bottle and managed to extract your brother from the chaos with queries about Pokemon and backyard adventures. Craig was in a state of shock and stood very still in the room, as if not moving would enable us to go back in time to the perfect Sunday lunch. Although comforted by the bottle, you were still shuddering with such force and it was suggested we go to the hospital for a check, a once over.

***
Later that evening, she called and began listing off all the people she had seen at the Mayor’s tea party. Between the names there wasn’t a chance to ask how we were. You’d had so many hospital visits by this point it didn’t seem worth mentioning. I was so exhausted all I could do was pretend to listen. I began tidying the kitchen again and looked at the untouched apple pie, made with apples from the garden. It would not have its ceremonious unveiling and I put it back into the fridge. I picked up your striped clothes and kept quiet as her monologue continued. I know I will never have the courage to say what I really think, share the feelings that bubble under the surface like a boiling cauldron. I say goodbye to her, check on you and your brother both exhausted from the day’s events. I crawled into bed and there is the woolly blanket at my feet, waiting to be carried. One day I will discard it, with all its smelly weight and festering anger, and wonder what will keep me grounded in its place.

I can’t be angry at you because you don’t know any better. You are what you are and none of us has any control over that.