I got a really good massage the other day. I get them regularly for my shitty back. As the therapist worked my upper back and hips where I experience the most pain, I fell into a stream of thoughts. That I should get hibiscus tea. That I need to read some books on my bedside stand. That I should have a living will drafted, mostly for my son of course but also for you. Make sure you know how much you were a part of the pain in this body. I will assign love letters to reach you so it’s manifestly clear. Please make sure these letters reach their intended destination.

At one point, the therapist hit a particularly tender spot behind my shoulder blade. It is under constant attack by my son. I carry the 30+ pound 40+ month old on the same hip, brace him with the same arm, every single day, so of course I have repetitive stress injury on the muscle underneath it. It radiates pain in every direction. I thought of dedicating this muscle to you. A wing. Please make sure these letters reach their intended destination.

Sometimes I think my entire body can become detached at the joints. Other times I think it would take you ripping me apart.