We woke early. Five thirty gray dawn. “Just give me another hour,” I futilely begged. “Then I’ll make some eggs for you.”
Yesterday was a hard day, but sometimes the hardest days present the best opportunities for grace. An elderly southern doctor, shuffling in cowboy boots and white coat, informed me that though he could hear a murmur in my boy’s neck he is healthy as a horse. He told me that sometimes the murmur will happen in the neck and the chest will act like the body of a banjo and make it resonate much larger than it is. His banjo analogy made me want to follow him home like a lost and hungry grandchild, sit at his kitchen table and eat Saltines with him.