Sea Glass

There is nothing like walking by the shore, listening to the sound of waves hugging sand, that soothes a weary mind. As Alex and Izzy splashed in the water and skipped oyster shells this afternoon, I walked the shoreline, collecting sea glass. We have an enormous wine glass that sits in our kitchen, nearly filled to the top with wave beaten glass of all shapes and sizes, collected over the past six years. The frosted colors look like sugar candy. The sight of them brings back memories. Each one has a story. Although I hide in the mountains, as far from civilization as I can, when I am out running on trails, I always return to the sea. I empty my soul in the woods, but I am filled again with peace by the ocean. On Saturday, Alex spiked a fever of 104, the cause of which was a most insidious virus that has left him with blisters and discomfort. The seizure brought on by the fever attacked his little brain with a fury. It swooped in, halted all control he had over his body, and seized his ability to breathe. Erik had only just turned one last moment to lay eyes on him, bundled up in our bed while Izzy watched cartoons downstairs, as he started to shut the door and find some Tylenol. Alex's seizures are silent. Had Erik just left the room and shut the door, we would not have heard Alex upstairs. When Erik yelled for me, I expected to find Alex shaking a bit. I expected to rub his pressure points and help him fall asleep to sleep it off. Instead, I found him blue, his eyes rolled into his head, his arms shaking wildly. We did everything in our power to help him breathe again. We pounded his back and chest, massaged his body and yelled into his face, "Breathe Alex!" His body turned from blue to gray, his lips from blue to black. Life, with all its problems and irritations, seems so permanent, until it nearly slips away in a few moments. I knew Alex might never take another breath unless we stopped the seizure, and I happened to have one old Valium tube nearby. For all I knew, it was expired, but to locate the other Valium, downstairs in my purse, would have meant seconds we didn't have. I grabbed the old tube and administered it, and we waited. He started to breathe. His color immediately returned, his shaking stopped, and he drifted into a deep, heavy breathing sleep. It takes Alex days to recover from his seizures, especially if we have to give him Valium. So, today, he is finally out of bed and able to walk across the street to the beach. I soaked him in the ocean for an hour, hoping to dry up his blisters. I watched dig holes in the sand with Izzy, his best friend. I collected sea glass.