Moon Child

The ocean swept beneath me.

The waxing moon reflected off the ripping currents, keeping pace with my swiftly racing body. White caps appeared and disappeared and once I caught the spraying plume of a grey whale surfacing.

Some mothers would fault me for leaving my son’s side, I knew this. Some would even fault me for saving the life of a little girl while my son is sick in the hospital, that I should be by my son’s side at all times, no matter what. I get it. No doubt some would feel that I should be beating down doors looking for a cure, not resting until my son is healthy again. I get that, too.

Below me, a seagull raced just above the surface, briefly keeping pace with me, until I pulled away. I dropped my right wing, angling to starboard. The beaches appeared, and soon the exorbitantly expensive homes. A party was raging in the back of one of them. I passed in front of the moon, and I spied one or two of the party-goers looking up, pointing.

But I’m not like most mothers. In fact, I would even hazard to guess there are very few of us, indeed. I could see my son’s imminent death. I could see the doctors failing. I could see it, feel it, hear it.
And not only that, I knew the hour of his death, and it was approaching.

Fast.

The beachfront homes gave way to marshy lands which gave way to beautiful condos and hillside homes. I swept over UCI and into a low-lying cloud which scattered before me, dispersed by my powerfully beating wings.

I had a decision to make. I had the biggest decision of my life to make. So I had to think. I had to get away, even for just a few minutes to sort through it. I had to know that what I was about to do, or not do, was the right decision.