Vesuvius and I

I thought that Skeeter was going to be my End of the World post, but this morning I woke up to howling, and for a split second, I thought it was here. The room was dark and for a few moments, I lay in bed and listened, carefully, as the howl began and stopped and then I realized that it was Sophie so I sat upright and then called out and The Husband, who was sleeping with Sophie, said it's all right, she's having a seizure, and by the time I walked the few short paces to her room, she'd stopped howling and just lay quietly. I left The Husband lying next to her and went back to bed, but about a half an hour later, it happened again, more howls, another seizure, a pale face, drawn turned sideways, her hands clammy, nearly wet, her limbs jerking, then loose, our hearts beating rapidly. That's it for today, I said quietly, willing it to be. It was time for the boys to get up, for the last day of school, and it wasn't the end of the world. I wasn't going to write anything this morning, but the writing calms me, the words out, the fear dispelled. Did you know that I fear my child's death each and every day and each and every day I dispel it through writing? Fear, confronted head on, acknowledgement, is a wisp then, a returning to earth, to dirt, to cloud and to sky.

I read Vesuvius this morning (no pressure, dear friend and fellow writer) and felt my fears dissipate into the cold blue sky Los Angeles morning.

May the long time sun shine upon you. 

All love surround you.

And the clear light within you

Guide your way on. Guide your way on. 

That's it for today. And it's not the end of the world.