Chana Scop

Is he feeling left out? Is he feeling sad? Frustrated?

It’s been so many years. I had no idea a little taste could take me back in time.

I find it meaningful to adorn myself with strands of love and affection, beautifully made by the small, pudgy hands of my children.

There are certain shades of colors that can only come to life from the black of night—vibrant, warm, incredible color that illuminates even the darkest room.

It’s now two hours since we have arrived and 16 hours since he last ate.

I caught a glimpse. Just a tiny little window into the soul of two brothers. A sight that covered an expanse of time and meaningful connection.

You pulled on me while you whined and screeched your loudest. And I just couldn’t anymore. I couldn’t hold it together.

I’m not sure who was more excited about the mail arriving—Chaim Boruch or his siblings. (Or maybe it was me.)

The doctors announced that Chaim Boruch would need swallow therapy. But I was nervous and scared. There was much I had to watch out for.

I savor the scene of Bubby with Chaim Boruch. They enjoy a closeness and bond that is unique and loving, full of laughter, playfulness and the incredible language of silence.