Sandy Jorgenson

The tumult that’s been rippling through our country has me begging the question: what do we do when we feel the defeat of a woman and the rise of a monster bearing down on us?

Why are people so mean?

Death, we know because it’s drilled into us from an early age, is a natural part of life.

Griping about adulting is a fun thing that we like to do, I know.

Everybody who’s a parent can attest to the fact that the lives they once knew are far behind them.

But what can be said for the day upon which I am no longer enough? I dread that day.

When I check on our daughter before heading to bed myself, I have to do a quick scan around her full-size bed just to locate her. She is almost never remotely close to where she started out. But she is almost always upside down, head jammed up against the wall or her footboard, stuffed animals scattered like confetti all around her.

Whoever is responsible for coining the term “terrible twos” and leaving the entirety of the threes out of the equation is sitting at the very top of my sh*t list. Because a little warning would’ve been nice.

The night I discovered that tumor on her back was essentially just like any other.