I write HAPPY in big capital letters—in pink chalk—over the faded image of the one-eyed monster I drew two nights before, when we were able to get ice cream, when we perused the toy aisle at the grocery store, when there was toilet paper to spare. I point to the word and say to my son, Bodhi, “This is the word of the day. Happy. H-A-P-P-Y.”
Bodhi is three and the world doesn’t make sense anymore. He doesn’t know why I’m not taking him to preschool. He doesn’t know why he can’t go into stores with me but has to sit with Mom in the car. He wears his pajamas, light blue with puppy dogs all over. He’ll wear the same thing for the next two days.
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