Monster

Back on the train, another week in Arizona with mom. Is it possible? Things are somehow better, even as it's all worse? A real enigma. Born from grief or harsh deliverance, still another day must begin. Nothing ever remains really except the next steps forward. 

But it's no longer like before, an impervious illness controlling everything. We've learned how this monster operates: sudden fog of unfamiliar, pointless quarrels of confusion, the stealing away of all certainty, ambushed by strangers. 

Now we tolerate it, much less fear. Expecting its daily onset, knowing what to ignore, we've reclaimed control over the household, all  loved ones on board, bonds intact, an injured family's resilient power. 

We understand it won't be stopped or retreated, but neither will our caring ever stop. Nor will disease define our days, for the grander assembly of caring wins over pain, myriad designs of experience all drawn to frame the story within.