“Real or not real?” The lead characters in The Hunger Games resort to asking each other this as they try to sort out what really happened and what was poison-induced hallucination.

“Real or not real?” I ask myself as I sit in the intensive care waiting room while our youngest undergoes a procedure. We spent hours and days there twelve years ago with our oldest. Memories are thick and my emotions raw as I remember and think, “How can we be here again?”

“Real or not real?” My oldest son choosing between anesthesia through a mask and through an i.v. He’s never had anything before, but he’s having surgery and I can’t believe I am watching a third child go under.

“Real or not real?” Reaching back into old dusty memories and trying to make sense of how they combined to form the woman I am now. The colors have faded and the details have blurred, and when I talk with family who were there too, their memories aren’t the same.

“Real or not real?” Watching people I love hurt people I love. Wondering why and how we got there and what to do to be a catalyst for healing. And will healing require radical amputation?

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On Fridays, we write for fun, unedited, and for only five minutes. Today’s prompt was Real. Visit The Gypsy Mama to join in or read more posts.

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