A decade ago,
When my child needed surgery,
I delved into a sea of information,
Carefully fished for relevance,
Determined to wrap my head around
Every
Single 
Thing 
About what to expect,
What to do,
What the condition was.
My nerves were consumed
By my need to know
And a river of terminology
And coherent thoughts
Freely flowed from my brain
To my mouth
To my pen. 

Now, though,
Medical jargon 
Of my siblings’ ailments
Needles me,
floats disjointedly in my head,
Littering my overcrowded pool of thoughts.
I swim in a lane of relative calm,
Intent on my own daily tasks,
Aware of their flailing,
Unable to steady it,
Too myopic, too weary
To focus on the details of their pain,
Both uncomfortable and relieved that
I can’t fully interpret the scribbles
My brain dulls when taking note
Of those conversations,
Sorting out that I’m on a need to know basis
And I don’t need to know.