1:30 AM—dim streetlights reveal Glen Abbey's darkness. 1:31 AM—I am ripped from sleep by a 21-year-old woman's cry of agony.

My feet hit the floor running, my wife close behind. I prep the syringe.

Seizures are routine for our daughter, but the deadly kind—where one of us holds her down and the other handles the syringe—happen every few days. We don't call the ambulance. They trained us. We save her life 3-5 times a week.

6:30 AM—Mackenzie seized again, but this time without rescue meds. I kissed her afterward. She offered a weak smile. She didn't say anything. She can't. She lost speech 9 years ago.

This routine is harder on a workday when you don't sleep the night before.

A nurse came later to help. I took the break to work in the garden. Years ago, I replaced my lawn with 50 trees—my private forest. Carefully pruned, you can fit a lot of trees in a small space. This green, red, purple, and yellow world is my happy place.

However, a forest is not enough to overcome two decades of pain. Marriage, friends, hobbies are not enough. The soul needs more. Even the Monsters speaks about that more—about the One who is God of even the monsters.

Today I'll kiss Zee again. She'll smile. We let God deal with the monsters. My wife and I handle the syringe. Together we enjoy the trees.