|Ophelia Among the Flowers|
Odilon Redon, 1905
I might as well have been speaking in tongues yesterday, at least when I declared Sophie had turned a corner, was on her way to a better place. She had multiple seizures last night, all night long and into the morning. I'm not sure what to do other than continue to tinker with the cannabis. She seems all right this morning, which is confusing. I imagine only those well-versed in these things understand my restraint in not consulting the neurologist. I am not lacking in hope, just tired. A bump in the road I will not climb or walk past but perhaps, temporarily, rest beside. I wouldn't feel responsible leaving yesterday's post up without today's, so here it is. I'm going to close comments, though, because I don't have it in me to listen. That's what comes, sometimes, from exposing too much, elation spilling over, taken over by a language that no one understands, including the speaker, me.