She has to move. Again. Just when she has finally adjusted to a new school, new friends, a new schedule, she has to move. Mom can't afford to live here anymore. They have to move.
My heart breaks.
He has a scratch. Again. Where did that come from, I ask. Shoulders shrug. No answer. He has another scratch.
My heart breaks.
They have a friend with leukemia. Again. Treatment begins. Hair falls out. Stage four. They have leukemia.
My heart breaks.
She has a rough start to the morning. Again. Mom was upset. Dad yelled at her. Her eyes are weary. She has a rough start.
My heart breaks.
Her shoes were taken. Again. She tells the teacher. The shoes are returned. They took her shoes.
My heart breaks.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
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