Saving Elijah

could control the seizures, he could be fine."
    "Or?"
    "Or the seizures could possibly get worse. More frequent. Stronger. Or there could be another big one. There's just no way to know."
    I sat down on the chair. There was no way to know. But I knew. In a dream that night I dream again of a vast blue sea, and I hear music that lifts me up like the wind, and sings to me from the depths. The music has a kind of perfume, the fragrance of salty sea air and camellias, of pancakes browning and sizzling in a pan, of human sweat. The music soars, laughs, smiles, cries, loves. The music even hates. The secrets of the universe are contained in every chord.
    In my dream, Elijah leans over the side of the boat, resting his chin on a forearm. His other hand is submerged in the water, rippling its surface in concentric circles like the parting of air when a ghost emerges. He is listening to the music.
    "God is singing to us from the heavens," he says.
    I turn to him in my dream.
    "Believe, Mommy," he says. "Be still. Have faith."

    *    *    *

    I awoke then, and I sat up in bed. Who but God could hold a note so long without taking a breath? Who could warm me and ease my suffering, in the season of absolute zero? Who indeed?
    I bowed my head and whispered words from my own heart.

    God, I only ask this.
Grant me
gratitude for my fleeting gift,
grief without bitterness
sorrow without anger
the imagination to be happy again
the desire, the courage, to go on

    "Dinah?" Sam opened his eyes and laughed. "What in the world are you doing?" "Praying."
    "Now?"
    "Now. And watching you."
    "That'd make a guy pretty nervous, having you watch him while he's sleeping and pray over him when he wakes up." "I love you," I said. "Love you, too."

    *    *    *

    The kids started school again the next day. We had a new routine. Kate, ecstatic about getting her driver's license, would drop Sam off at the train station every day, then drive herself and Alex to school. I would take Elijah to his school myself.
    Miss Lerman was his new teacher. A pretty twenty-two-year-old, she informed me right away that she was very excited because it was her very first job out of college, and she explained enthusiastically that they were going to do all kinds of fun and wonderful activities, a few of which she described. It was obvious from the way she told me Elijah would be "just fine" that she was aware of his history. I explained his new medical situation to her, and took his medical form to the nurse. I told them both that if anything happened out of the ordinary, they were to call me right away, no matter what it was. They said they would.

    *    *    *

    Mary Galligan pronounced the foliage that autumn brilliant. She was right. The leaves were extravagant and uninhibited multitudes of color, each one a celebration. A bedazzled brush had painted those leaves. Every day, before the other children got home, Elijah and I would take a walk together through the neighborhood, just the two of us, collecting leaves in a little shopping bag we carted along. We took turns giving names to each color. The yellows were saffron, honey, and wheat and lemon and mustard and tawny, and there were tans like lion, sand, fawn. Some leaves were mottled yellow and green, spotted, like a certain fish pictured in Creatures of the Deep. The reds were ruby, apples and cherries, scarlet, watermelon, vermilion (that was mine). There were orange leaves the color of sienna, and fire, and Tuddy's orange bow tie, and mango (and oranges that reminded me of Julie's hair). There were flaming eggplant-purple leaves, and the Japanese maple in front of Mrs. Hurlock's house at the end of our block had leaves that turned the color of raspberries. When we got home each afternoon, we pasted our leaves into four scrapbooks, one book for each color category, yellow, orange, purple, and red.
    Kate suggested that Elijah dress up as Elvis Presley for Halloween, and he thought that was a great idea. He looked pretty cute in his white spangled costume, knocking on doors, trekking through leaf piles now scattered all over the neighborhood, the four of us in tow.
    The next day, we added the browns to his collection of leaves.
    "Not as pretty as the other colors," I said.
    "Just different," he said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "Like me."
    I looked out the window. In a gusty breeze, the leaves were falling from the trees like rain, whipping and dancing around the yard.
    "Why do you think the