She tucked the letters into the drawer with the unpaid hydro bill. The enough wasn’t money. It was the inhaler. The muscle relaxants. The tiny crack of light through a door that had almost slammed shut.
Wednesday was for ODSP. Describe your typical day. She wrote: Wake up. Soak hands in hot water. Try to button my son’s shirt. Fail. Cry. Try again. She didn’t write the crying part. She wrote “Assistance required for fine motor tasks.” odsp and cpp
She couldn’t weld anymore. But she could still open that drawer. And that, she decided, was a kind of victory. She tucked the letters into the drawer with
Zero dollars. But her son’s asthma inhaler would be covered. Her muscle relaxants, too. The muscle relaxants
“Yeah, bud,” she said, folding the papers into a neat square. “We won enough.”
