The Hardest Question
DINNERTIME AT OUR HOUSE is controlled chaos. The four kids, ages 13 and under, race in, sometimes from soccer or baseball or the neighborhood, usually trailing dirt behind them. Milk gets poured, the table set. Sometimes grace is said, and when led by the 5-year-old, he ends the prayer with a sung “Alleluia, amen.” Food is eaten, laughter comes often. If anyone wrinkles a nose and says, “What’s this?” when they look down at their plate, they’re in trouble with Mom. Later that night, cold cereal at the island is a snack. The two little ones sip water from cups with lids in their bed, listening to a parent or older sibling read a book. In the morning, we do it all again. And that is why feeding tubes are the hardest question.