Illusory comfort lost

Today was a day devoted to my automobile - or at least the morning was spent in this endeavour.

The day began by having the driver's side front tire changed. From there, it was to the dealership to change the serpentine belt. Onward to the inspection station for the coming year's accreditation and sticker. And to finish things off, I swung back around the building for an oil change.

Once I'd settled back in here, my daughter logged in online. It's a school day, so... I inquire. The response takes me aback. Earlier this week, she suffered a severe reaction/seizure, and spent four hours in the hospital. She is unfortunately prone to such reactions, and memories of one occasion, where I thought she was going to die in my arms, came flooding back to me.

She was home today because she suffered another reaction, and was sent home by the school. There was a time where that meant a call to me, and it was me who brought her home. I knew the school staff well, my presence was not uncommon.

Yet now... I am not even aware of when she is ill, distressed, and in need. No one lets me know in the moment.

This is where frustration comes from. I can't say a thing, it would reignite animosity and still nothing would change. So I accept my outcast status, and suffer silently.

When K informed me of these events today, it was as if I had just been kicked. Since leaving in 2003, I've been under the illusion that things I did were continued - specifically, checking her blood sugar late at night. K is a teen, susceptible to pressure to keep her weight down, and I worry she does not eat as she should. That is a recipe for disaster, because her blood glucose will drop precipitously, and what happened this week becomes inevitable.

Now the illusion of safety has been shattered, and every night when I go to bed, the thought will enter my head... is she safe?