Monday, March 14, 2011
I feel like I am stationary in a car and as I look out the window I can see the countryside whizzing by. Time suspended, yet passing.
When I was talking with my sister-in-law recently she was asking questions about when and how long regarding Dave’s health. Almost all my answers were for a couple of weeks such and such happened. Later I realized that some things were three or four weeks duration, some just a few days. I couldn’t get the time straight. It just seems like everything is a “couple of weeks.”
I mark the days by Dave’s routine of morning and evening pills. For years he has taken a handful of medicines twice daily. Now I gather the pills each day for him, marking time, marking the meals.
The weeks are noted by Sunday and how many breakfasts he no longer cooks for me, a routine lost to illness. One day he remarked that he misses preparing Sunday breakfast, and doing the nightly dishes. I miss that too.
What we have now is time. This morning he called out in the midst of my 6 am writing. So I sat in the rocking chair across from the bed in the dark and we talked quietly. I cherish these moments. Quiet, gentle; slowly unveiling thoughts on our past. How we’ve grown together. The friendship. Parenting. Making a home. Love and meaning. We have good fortune.
The light of day breaks into the room and I can see him come out of the shadow. He tells me he is getting drowsy now.
Time suspended, yet passing.