My granddaughter is going to the dentist. To be clear, she already went, which is when the technician informed her mother that the baby tooth that was damaged by a collision with the pavement has to go. Olly is only three and the realization that she has to be subjected to anesthesia, and yanking pliers, and bloody gauze makes me cringe. There will be tears, and she and her mother won't be the only ones. 

 

My own son had a procedure when he was small enough to still use a car seat. He remembers it, and we pieced together the distress and distrust of an office that seemed to take lightly the administration of strong drugs on children too small to reach the door and escape. 

 

"Mrs. Odhner, he will be fine! He'll act like he's drunk. He won't remember a thing."

 

I did not find her dismissal of my concerns reassuring. I signed a release that admitted that he might die, sorry about that. On the radio while I wrung my hands and waited there was an alert about a loose convict in the area, as well as a weather warning for a tornado. As I carried my limp and bandaged boy to the car the nurse warned me not to let his head fall forward, as he was too unresponsive to lift it and he could suffocate. 

 

The whipping winds pulled at my skirt, and I worried about how to drive while still watching my child in the back seat. Should I leave the windows open, so that the tornado wouldn't shatter them, even though the bad guy could jump into my car? 

 

We made it home, and he did not die. Perhaps the criminal was caught, and the tornado went back to the clouds. 

 

This morning I was feeling besieged by the turmoil of contempt, and blame, corruption and unsolvable division around me. For a moment I wondered if there will be a day when those threats lose their impact, and I believe once more that goodness reigns. Or at least if I cry, Someone will cry with me.