Longing, June 2009

I sit with you on a bed. Your son scribbles with pen, he hands me pieces of paper torn from your journal. He begins to dance in between the spaces and gaps. Your mother on a ventilator for two years. All she wanted was a grandchild. The death of your father at age 7. The 5ths of vodka. Seraquil and Lemictal. "I feel like I'm coming down. I don't know if you've ever done acid, but my thoughts are like I am on it." "Yes, this is what I need." "I bet you have heard a lot in counseling." I am a microbiologist. After my first abortion, I told myself I would never go through with it again. That photograph there. When I wanted to end my life two months ago. When the cops came and...