A full moon, a penumbral eclipse and a green comet aligned in some sort of cosmic clusterfuck this morning. Calvin suffered his second grand mal in just four days at the exact moment—three o’clock—when the comet was closest to the earth on a night when the moon’s pull was at its strongest this month. I wondered how many of the sixty-five million people in the world who have epilepsy had seizures simultaneously.
This last reduction of Calvin’s benzodiazepine has seemed to prove hard on him with four out of the past five days marked by seizures of some sort. I try to remind myself that it was just last month that Calvin went twenty-seven days between grand mal seizures, hoping that kind of stretch can repeat.
As the seizure abated and Michael got in with Calvin, I crawled back into bed alone, and like the moon’s gravity, I felt the pull of my blog, and began crafting the first lines in my head. I had some idea, when I wrote the words so long in my last post, that I couldn’t easily tear myself away. Writing it gives me a great source of fulfillment. It’s an intimate and reliable friend, a way to connect with others when I’m so often alone in this house with a boy whose thoughts are silent and unknown to me.
And so here I am again, who knows for how long or until when. I guess it will depend upon what tugs at me, whether the full moon or some other cosmic gravity in the world.
This last reduction of Calvin’s benzodiazepine has seemed to prove hard on him with four out of the past five days marked by seizures of some sort. I try to remind myself that it was just last month that Calvin went twenty-seven days between grand mal seizures, hoping that kind of stretch can repeat.
As the seizure abated and Michael got in with Calvin, I crawled back into bed alone, and like the moon’s gravity, I felt the pull of my blog, and began crafting the first lines in my head. I had some idea, when I wrote the words so long in my last post, that I couldn’t easily tear myself away. Writing it gives me a great source of fulfillment. It’s an intimate and reliable friend, a way to connect with others when I’m so often alone in this house with a boy whose thoughts are silent and unknown to me.
And so here I am again, who knows for how long or until when. I guess it will depend upon what tugs at me, whether the full moon or some other cosmic gravity in the world.
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| Photo by Rob Pettengill |
Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteI believe writing is a gift, a gift to you as much as to us, the readers, for along with y0ur reasons it gets out from your head and heart that which hurts and feels....Like tears, (another gift, I swear!) finding words to say all that's inside allows freedom and growth and even some sense of dealing with all the stuff.... Write away, Christy!
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