Winter hammered. Snowdrifts slid across pavement. Savage icicles bore down. I was warm inside; flannels, socks, layers of blankets, Netflix. Then a call from Hawaii: “Mom, we got an emergency alert, ‘A ballistic missile threat is inbound to Hawaii. Seek immediate shelter. This is not a drill.’ There is nowhere for us to go.” Helplessness, hopelessness, fear falling, a heavy stone plunging, internal exploding. I fell to my knees. 15 minutes is all I had left to tell them, I love you. Gasping. Unbelievable. Inconceivable. 15 minutes I gripped my phone, pressed against ear, 15 minutes my children passed the phone around. No time for anger, resentment, apologies, breath shaking, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you caught in my throat, choking and waiting, fingers clutching blankets. The people of Hawaii were hostage to fear. 15 long minutes before it was announced it was a false alarm. I still tremble knowing that 15 minutes is not long enough to love.