In the protected room - Amira Or

Crammed in the protected room with my partner, my patient, my son and my grandchildren

My partner, my patient, and I lean on the concrete wall.

My son and grandchildren sprawl on a mattress.

My grandson bounces a table tennis ball off the wall and looks at us to see how we feel about it.

My patient smiles at him.

Our protected room is small and we’re all packed in tight.

What does he think about my family? How will this affect our relationship going forward?

Is he jealous of my son for having such an empathetic mother?

Is he embarrassed that he needs therapy?

Maybe he feels threatened by my partner?

Maybe he’d rather take a chance and stay outside with the Iranian missiles – anything to avoid being packed in with my family?

The authoritative image of my first instructor appears before me.

Tabula rasa, always a tabula rasa, she reminds me.

Yes, yes. I nod. Whenever possible. Whenever possible.