Last week we had our big fishing trip. We took a meal with us, thinking that there might be an eating space nearby. And there was, and so while we set everything up, the kids sat under the gazebo and ate. When the lines were set up and the bait had been (euw!) prepped, we called them out to us and they came running. All except Riley. Often, Riley doesn’t join in, preferring to keep to herself. That’s fine with me. I don’t force her to join in - often, that’s counterproductive to our family enjoyment.

So we were fishing, or, rather the family was fishing and I was watching, because, euw! She strolled from the fishing area to the gazebo, bit her hamburger and walked back. Lather, rinse, repeat. She sang songs to herself and played finger games, stopped to admire some flowers, climbed on the bench and called to me often. When she wasn’t next to me, I kept my eye on her most of the time, flipping from “watch me fish, Mom!” to watching her play. She was satisfied to be alone. In short, it was a time that worked for her. She was content, and that’s a state I strive for. I relaxed, admiring the boats docked in the marina and waving to a woman who walked by with her medium sized dog on a leash.

Until I heard her scream, and scream, and scream - long, ear piercing, heart rending screams that seemed follow each other - as soon as one ended, she began again, without taking a breath.