halloween

Every Halloween I am reminded of past ones: of the one when Calvin endured a painful circumcision meant to alleviate frequent urinary tract infections that had spiked fevers triggering seizures; of the one where a nurse mistakenly gave Calvin the wrong dose (too much) of seizure medicine, of the one when he suffered a bad seizure, of the one when he had twenty-eight leads glued to his head for a 72-hour EEG; of the ones when he’d cry and scream so much that I’d greet trick-or-treaters with red eyes and black tears streaming down my face. I didn’t care if they saw, didn't care if it scared them, couldn't have helped it anyway.

Of late, Calvin seems to be less stubborn walking where I want him to walk. He did so well on one recent occasion that it made me think that, perhaps, I could take him trick-or-treating—for the first time—to a handful of nearby houses. I'd mentioned as much to our neighbor Woody. But then, hearing myself say it, I realized I wouldn't be doing it for Calvin, I'd be doing it for myself—a bad reason to put the poor kid through getting dressed up and out in the cold when he can't hold a bag, likely can't eat the candy and has no concept of the holiday to begin with.

This morning I'd meant to dress him in his sparkly Halloween blue jeans for school, the ones with the spiders and rhinestones, along with his jack-o-lantern t-shirt. But, in my rush to get his lunch made, his breakfast eaten and his diaper changed before loading him into the car to drive to his doctor's appointment to talk about his ongoing gastric distress, I forgot that today is Halloween.

So, I'll leave you with some photos of past Halloweens, sparing you the haunting images of the moments that were anything but a treat.