the morning after

It’s the morning after Calvin had another evening seizure. Walking Rudy the dog through the woods I feel a chill as if it were already fall. And with that chill I feel a sadness creep over me, a lump in my throat, a stone in my heart and a sea in my gut. Will they ever end? I think, as tears nearly spill onto my cheeks. Will we ever beat this thing—Calvin and I? And I step over knotted roots which desperately clutch at the earth, some naked, raw, exposed. I think of my little boy, so innocent and vulnerable to the electric charges that snake through his brain like thunderbolts. As I emerge from the woods, the sky begins to clear and I can’t decide if I welcome the glaring sun or not.

photo by Michael Kolster