We're Sorry Your Arm is Broken

In honor of someone we love who recently broke her arm,

I thought I would share the sympathy I received when I broke my arm. 

The first time, anyway.  I was six. 

This is one of my treasured childhood possessions.

{Click a picture to see a larger image.}

 My brother's class at school took it upon themselves to make me a book,

from whence these photos come.  I smile to myself, picturing the adults these children have become, and their innocent and heartfelt expressions of sympathy.

                                                                                   

 If I had found it, I would also have included a photo of myself, triumphant with my very hard and brilliantly pink cast.  Or the numerous stickers from the doctor that filled my little sticker book.

"This is a chocolate chip cookie," he declairs, as if certain I will not otherwise know.  Next page over, they have me dreaming of ice cream.

In actuality, what I most desired {and delightedly received} was cinnamon toast.

But the blueberry pie in the hospital wasn't bad either.

{Sorry for the duplicate.  I'm having no success deleting one.}

 In these cases, the picture must be worth a thousand--

or at least the few they would have written--words.

And finally the teacher, who like my grandmother, wrote with pictures.  Which I loved, and still love.