Sitting the Vigil

One of the first hallmarks of adulthood

Is the sinking realization that you can’t protect them.

You can’t protect your children, your brothers and sisters,

Your lovers, your parents or your friends.

 

You can’t protect them

From the maliciously multiplying cell,

From the distracted driver, from the ice on the road,

Or the random acts of casual violence.

 

You can’t.

 

You do what you can do.

You sit the vigil.

You bear witness.

 

You take the phone calls.

You wash the dishes.

You take a sick day.

You loudly announce you’re making a snack,

Make twice as much as necessary and quietly

Count how many bites are taken out the corner of your eye.

 

That’s not all you count.

 

You count breaths.

You count pills.

You count minutes.

 

You sit the vigil.

You bear witness.

It’s what you can do.