My children pause briefly in the hallway before tiptoeing into the dark bedroom. As they lean down to kiss me their hair, still warm from the sun, brushes my face, and I catch the smell of damp soil and sweat on their skin. I lie unmoving under the blanket with my head, which feels as if it will split open, cradled in my hands. My son climbs under the blankets and presses his body against my clammy two-day-old pajamas. In his best approximation of a whisper he says, “Mama, can I just be here with you for a while? I promise I’ll be very quiet and still.” I don’t really move or speak because eit ..read more