in the wind coming off of the lake

In the wind coming off of the lake I cried, but in his embrace, the tepid water lapping at our necks, my sobs turned into laughter. I told him not to make me laugh, for I wanted to feel my despair over our sick child, our child who has been exhibiting signs of pain or discomfort or sadness or frustration or all of the above, but who can’t tell us. And I can’t fix it. And it’s been going on for years, since before he was born when the white matter in his brain didn’t fully form, or so it seems.

In the wind coming off of the lake I laid on a towel in the shade of maples turning the silvery backs of their leaves to the sun. I looked up to the sky with its clouds breaking into gauzy pieces and remembered my childhood days such as this one, and somehow felt sad. Did I have a happy childhood? I asked myself. I’d always thought so but just then, looking in on it—back on it—with more than a twinge of blues, I wasn’t sure.

In the wind coming off of the lake I worried about Calvin back at home in the humid heat of late afternoon, in the stillness of town, and I feared a seizure. He’s due, I thought, then I realized that there was nothing I could do and he’d probably come out of it and not have to go to the hospital and he’d probably survive. “But I just don’t want him to have any more,” I said to Michael, and he understood me like the trees understand the wind, like the shore understands the waves, and that knowledge rocked me like a baby, brought me from the glaring sky back down to the ground on which I rested my head knowing that it wouldn’t give way.

1 comment:

  1. What beauty....in your thoughts, in your surroundings, and in your relationship with Michael!

    Hang onto all of them....they are a richness few people have... If I've learned anything in my long life is that beauty can come in a multitude of ways....