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Show 376 Bitty "And what do you want for Christmas, Bitty?" I am asking my youngest daughter. There is something wrong with my question but I cannot grasp what it might be. My daughter's eyes are big at my question. Christmas is only a few weeks away. I will still be in the hospital, I understand, because I am currently on high levels of Versed. But I am still a mother and I will fully participate. "Would you like some Swedish fish?" I ask, earnestly. She does not respond and looks to her father instead. My older children are leaving the room for some reason and even Hy seems distracted. He is turning his back to me and his shoulders are shaking. Is he laughing? What is funny? This year I have drawn the name of our youngest son. I have already found a present for him, even from the confines of this pale room and this potent drug. His beloved parakeet died last summer and an old friend of mine, who has MS, has asked me if I knew of anyone who would like her two cockatiels. The male, Sunshine, is yellow and talks. His mate, Misty, is grey. They are both sweet and very tame birds, my friend told me. |