When it isn't as simple.

Seems simple, doesn’t it?

Walking through a grocery store. Moving through the motions and picking out the produce.

Trailing through fruits as tiny voices call out.

“This one, Mom?”

They hold up a bag of grapes. A few bruised and wrinkled fruits, but overall good.

“Thought you liked the red ones?” I respond.

—

They shake their head.

“Not for me. For dad.” Like it was that simple. Like it wasn’t a thought other than what someone else wanted.

I smile and nod.

“Sure thing.”

But it's still there under it all. Pressing into my lungs as I smile back at my child.

—

The hairs at the back of my neck stand on end as I feel it behind me.

Shifting its weight as it moves to a better view in the grocery store.

Yet, I ignore it. Don’t give it attention.

My eyes dart around in front to look for the danger.

I grip their shoulder as they put the fruit in the cart.

“Stay close,” I utter between pants and breaths.

A man got too close just trying to get bananas.

—

Seems simple to walk through the park on a beautiful day.

Watching your child pump their legs back and forth as they try to climb higher on the swings.

To do this without you, for once.

You should be glad to see them working.

To see them being independent.

—

But there it is. Itching at your shoulders.

Digging their claws in and not letting go.

Intake of breath to still the tremble.

“Mom! Watch me!” They cry.

I struggle to breathe for the moment but push through.

“Watching, baby.”

__

Panic floods me. Seeing it all too clearly.

They aren’t skilled on the swings. They are too high up.

They kick back and tumble down. Hit the ground below and hear a crack.

See the crimson fan around the black curls of hair.

—

I shake the image away.

“We have to go,” I call out.

They whine but listen.

Stilling the swing. Hopping off.

Dragging their feet in the sand, because of course there is sand under them.

Not concrete. Nothing that could hurt. Breathe.

—

It seems so simple at night when everything else is turned in for the night.

You say goodnight to them.

You kiss their forehead.

Tell them you love them.

Watch them climb into bed to sleep.

—

Then you are alone again.

With the same thoughts

With the same looming presence again.

Biting at your ankles.

Tugging at your hair.

—

Then the thoughts.

The overwhelming thoughts that you’re not enough.

They have been taunting you all day.

At the grocery store, when you were afraid of them being taken.

When a man was too close. He came out of nowhere. (He’s just shopping.)

—

Then at the park.

The fall.

The blood.

Husband would say it's irrational. So I don’t tell him.

But it could happen. They fall back. Snap their neck.

Hit too hard. It could happen.

—

It surrounds me in a fog.

The dread.

The worry.

Clouds the judgment and makes me feel crazy.

—

Sometimes I wish they would tell you,

When you have anxiety.

It doesn’t end. It just personifies.

It follows you.

Especially when you finally have someone, you’re terrified to lose