She remembers me doing the right thing.
She remembers me calling 911 as I saw my brother slammed, bloody, against the ground as she held back my screaming sister.
“We are now calling all first-class passengers and travelers with small children to board United Airways,” the flight attendant announced. I stood up and adjusted Colton’s jacket, then turned to help Lilianna with her backpack. “It’s time for you guys to go now,” I said. I grabbed each child’s hand and escorted them to the gate.
As the cool autumn breeze brushes past my shoulders, I sit reflecting on Colton's annual VCFS (Velocardiofascial syndrome/DiGeorge Syndrome) appointment. I remember the cold, gray walls and the plush, indigo chairs in the psychologist's office. "This is not my regular office," the psychologist said. Toys were scattered throughout the room, stored in clear, rectangular Tupperware bins. Clearly a lot of "evals" took place here, with instruments of distraction to keep the kids busy.