A Scare of Scares

By Ernest McCray

Carlos, my youngest
and now only son,
has Covid-19.
But he’s got the battle won
it seems.

Yet, when the news reached me,
as quick as
a flash
of lightening
streaking across
the sky,
ghostly like images of
Debbie and Guy,
two children of mine
who have lived and died,
floated before my eyes
and I became weak.

Wanted to curl up
like a baby and sleep,
to just get away
from thinking
of the probability
that I could lose another child
of mine
in my lifetime
as I don’t think
I could survive
that level of emotional pain
ever again
and my mind
has wandered to the essence
of what I would miss
in Carlos’s absence:
his many accomplishments,
fueled by a Nike-like
“Just do it” sense
of confidence
that has dazzled me
all his life,
like, on the day
he first rode a bike
with training wheels.
pedaling
from our house
to the corner
and back
like it was no big deal,
demanding that
the extra wheels
be removed,
rejecting any notions
regarding that such
might not be a good move,
and no sooner
than I had gotten the wheels off
and put down my tools
he flew
back to the corner
and came back
with his feet balanced on the handlebars
waving his hands in the air
like he just didn’t care,
and I knew
I had a boy who was
exceedingly rare
and I can’t imagine him
anywhere but on this
beautiful earth
doing what he’s been
doing so well,
giving of himself,
affecting social change,
empowering marginalized communities.

But as each day passes
I feel more at ease,
since all indications
point to him
overcoming a devastating disease
on a path to being alright,
something I’ve been hoping for
with all my might.

Oh, but it’s been quite a fright,
a scare of scares
that’s lasted
a few days
and nights.