Another morning and another blank page.
Another night I didn’t sleep well, with snatches of cat-nap dreams toying with my mind. Where does the dream and my conscious thought begin and end?
I think back to this time last year and I can’t help but feel haunted by the then, as-yet-year-filled challenges of doctors, estate disbursement from my father-in-law’s death, and family phone calls of drama and neediness on top of the normal hustle of just life.
To say I’m a little gun shy is an understatement as my husband is still not feeling well despite a clean bill of health. But chemicals are still chemicals and the re-introducement of them into his system from the preventative treatment drips has created an undercurrent of constant feelings of unwellness and in his words, feeling poisoned.
As the date of my husband’s first chemo anniversary approaches fast, I am facing my own health situation, the results of which I should know in another week or two. Looking at the possibility of a whole new round of health issues this Winter is weighing more heavily on me right now than I care to admit—or deal with. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
One way or another, I am confident that things will work out fine and these are just the ramblings of someone who needs to find the space to be the caregiver to the caregiver, whatever the results may be.
— — —
I gaze at the stars and wish upon each one.
I watch the smoke rise from the fire and imagine that my prayers reach the ears of not just my God, but all that there is in the Highest Good.
I watch you sleep and I feel my heart swell with so much love I think it’s going to burst. I wanted to take away your pain, but I know that this is your road that you need to travel. This is your story to tell.
My road and my story are still being built and I can feel the pen on the paper and the bricks being laid one by one. I can’t see around the bend right now or what’s on the next page, so I sit in stillness and bide my time until the words and the landscape reveal themselves to me.