Last night Sebastian started screaming short before midnight. It always catches me off guard. How is it possible that allergies hit him suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere after days and sometimes weeks of peace? Sometimes they go away without giving him medication. I do not like keeping him on antihistamine unless it is necessary, because he gets eczema on his arms when he is taking it. Sebastian does not even whimper when sand or soap gets into his eyes. So the allergies must hurt him very much to make him scream very intensely for such a long time. It takes about twenty minutes for the antihistamine to start working. Twenty minutes of his crying is not easy to take. So I put him in the car and we drove to the waterfront park where the air is different and the change of scenery helps a bit. It was just after twelve at night when we got there. I like this place because there is a good trail from two sides and an open space to run around and benches so I can sit down and watch Sebastian in open space without losing sight of him. He likes looking at the water and the ship docked by the shore. There is always a breeze. Well, not always.
This time there was no wind. Everything stood still. The water looked like a black mirror: smooth wrinkle-less and shiny. The only sound we could hear after Sebastian stopped screaming were fish jumping out of the water. I was watching the wave-rings they were making on the completely smooth black and shiny surface of the bay. I saw motionless silhouettes of cranes different sizes and shapes standing on the edge of the water trying to catch fish. They flew away when we came closer, flapping their long wings, bending their skinny necks and dragging their long legs behind, almost touching the water.
Sebastian was running around calm and happy like if the pain and screams from just minutes ago never took place. The lights reflected in the water shimmered, and fish were jumping. A perfect moment, I thought. Almost surreal. Peace. Soothing calmness. Quiet joy. We were the only people in the park. Nobody to compare to. Nobody to make excuses to and for. Freedom to walk, jump, run and hum for Sebastian; freedom to sit still for me, and just soak up that perfect moment. It would never have happened if Sebastian had felt good. We would be in bed sleeping soundly. A perfect moment to make me thankful, but not enough to make me be thankful for Sebastian's pain and the distress that made that moment possible. Paradox of mixed blessings.