I used to watch the wooden statues at church and swear I could catch them moving. That if I looked hard enough, focused my eyes on their faces and hands, some motion could be detected there. I wanted a sign. A blessing. Some indication that the God I was praying to saw me and that things were okay. That I was good and I was special and elicited such a miracle as making a statue move.

Even now as I pass— I haven’t been to church in months, but their eyes look too glossy. Their hands float too lightly. I haven’t quite given up.

I haven’t been strong for someone in my life. I can’t watch a person in pain. I get hot, I cry, I almost always run away. I feel shameful. I feel weak.

I hate change. I hate losing things. I don’t know how to feel this much. I know in my heart that I’ve seen them move.