|photo by Jennifer W.|
I woke up this morning at just after 4:00 to Sophie howling in her bed, not a croon but a howl, the seizure slicing through her throat, air pressed out. She had two more like that, I dithered about Diastat for the thousandth time should I wait should I do it should I wait no do it no wait just do it. I snapped off the plastic top and tore the foil envelope of lubricant, inserted the tip into foil and then into Sophie. Eventually, her eyes fluttered, her hands, in claws at her ears, relaxed. I lay beside her. There is no one to call, I told Suzy, as I wandered the grocery aisles, picking up flour, sugar, eggs, butter, the bad stuff for the five dozen cupcakes I will make this evening. There's nothing to do, sometimes, but endure, I thought, and pushed the for what away. Later, I leaped off the no white food cliff, smeared Brillat Savarin on a baguette, ate it in my car while Astrud Gilberto sang to me.