'He was still too young to know that the heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burdens of the past.'
~ Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Love in the Time of Cholera
Grace is sitting in her bed. In front of her is a plate, with 6 or 7 Ritz crackers on it, each with a small amount of peanut butter spread on it. That's her favorite, I make it each time this happens at night. Next to it lies a banana, already peeled and ready to eat. The individual applesauce resides there too, with a spoon, readied to be opened.
She is low. It could have been the 33, the 28, the 44. Sometimes, I lose track of the lows. They all blend into one after all this time. Each one is distinct for it's uniqueness, but it's basically the same record that plays again and again, one continuous loop. The goal is always the same. Higher.
Sometimes she sits cross legged, with the pillow at her back. Sometimes she lays half down, propped on one arm. My position stays the same. I plop myself at the end of her bed. I start talking. I reassure her that just eating will make it better. I tell her how it's gonna come up and up and soon she will go back to bed and I will take care of it all.
She eats. She sometimes talks back to me, telling me how good it tastes, how very, very, very hungry she is and she could eat ALL the pantry contents. She tells me that the banana tastes good, and how many carbs she guesses for it. We banter - 15g, no it's more like 18g, if we had to dose for it, Mommy, I would dose 18g cause you are always closer to the actual number. I smile. She eats. And eats.
I clean up as she finishes. I keep track of the time mentally, timing the 15 damn minutes that we all wait. It seems like forever. I look at Dex, but not too much to freak her out. I reassure her again that it will come up. I promise her, again and again.
The memories of the lows are met with the love I have for her. I'll sit on any bed, any time of any day, to help that number rise. I hope that is what she takes away from all these times.