Between Bruises and Blooms

Vancouver
was supposed to be

graduation photos,

birthday shopping,

boats on the water,

and a little adventure
for a mother
and her almost-two-year-old boy.

The morning
felt warm.

I thought
it was the apartment.

The summer.

The city.

I didn’t know

his tiny body

was already burning.

He slept
through sidewalks,
through Tim Hortons,
through streets
I didn’t know.

I got us lost.

So I followed the ocean,

because water

always knows
how to find home.

At Canada Place

I woke you.

You smiled
at the SeaBus.

The seaplanes.

The endless blue.

I carried you
to the end of the wharf,

wanting to show you
the world.

Instead,

the world

showed me

fear.

You started to shiver.

I tucked you
inside my sweater,

thinking you were cold.

Then your head
fell against my chest.

Your eyes

weren’t looking at me.

They were looking
somewhere

I couldn’t follow.

Time shattered.

I remember shouting
to strangers.

“I think my baby
is having a seizure.”

Those words

still don’t sound
like mine.

An older woman
gently took you,

rolling you onto your side

while I dialed 911
with shaking hands.

Lost in a city
I couldn’t navigate.

Phone battery fading.

No idea
where I was.

Only where you were.

In my heart.

Between life

and terror.

The ambulance found us.

You slept

after the seizure.

When they told me
I could pick you up,

I held my breath.

Then you cried.

No song

has ever sounded

more beautiful.

The hospital
called it

a febrile seizure.

Such clinical words

for the way
a mother’s soul

comes undone.

Hours passed.

Tylenol.

Advil.

Waiting.

Watching monitors.

Praying to gods

I wasn’t sure
I believed in.

Then—

your eyes opened.

“Juice.”

“Ice.”

“A snack.”

Simple words.

Ordinary words.

Miracles.

By afternoon,

you laughed again.

You threw ice at me,

as if the morning

had never happened.

Children

have a beautiful way

of returning to joy.

Parents

don’t.

Part of me

is still standing

at the end
of that wharf,

holding a little boy

whose eyes
rolled away from mine,

wondering

if this was the moment

my whole world

would end.

It wasn’t.

Instead,

it became the day

I learned

how quickly

everything can change.

And how strangers

can become angels

without ever telling you

their names.

I still think of them.

The couple

who caught us

when I couldn’t.

The paramedics.

The nurses.

My family

who came running.

And every birthday
you’ve celebrated since,

every laugh,

every milestone,

every ordinary day—

has felt

a little extraordinary.

Because once,

for a handful

of unbearable minutes,

I thought

the ocean

was going

to take you from me.

And instead,

it gave me back

my son.