A quiet morning. I sleep so slightly now, awakening to a dull ache in the right hip, or someone's alarm, or the jarring of bodies plodding around. Today I lingered in the sleep one has when one is young - blissful unconsciousness. The long blurry state before awakening, the pleasant dream pulling me back into sweet slumber, a bit of me following the mind's story moments longer. Not awakening to worry - a tick list of family members and their precarious states flashing into my head. One by one - the rebooting, the reloading, of the caregiver's brain's computer.
Today, though, the old sleep. The sun can not march brightly through the the sky today. Sol veiled in heavy clouds, time is suspended so - it could be any time on the clock with the muted outdoor light, a limbo making the moment stand still. I'm a superhero moving around in a time freeze. I savor this.
When I had very young children, my sleep was yanked away from me. I rose, night after night, to care for them. It was wonderful, precious, to feed them, talk to them, sing them to sleep, lullaby and rock them.
I'm so grateful I could do that.
Now there are no young children. Just sore muscles, a too-full mind, a snoring, uncomfortable bed partner. The gifts of old age and a long life. Grateful I am also for all of these.
But last night - a quiet house. Everyone was away. I find those hidden corners of my mind that usually elude me. Sweet old memories - me on my childhood bicycle, peddling freely. The big old oak tree platform and swing my father built. Lying in green grass and clover fields - looking for the four-leaves as the big purple heads attracted bumblebees. Chasing, or just watching, butterflies. Trying to catch frogs in a pond full of duck weed. Free moments.
Yet, if I stayed in this period of rest, my body would soften, my heart atrophy, my health decline. So I must push myself tomorrow. Stress it, take on the earthly organisms' flight or fright, or fight. My redefinition.
Let me have this moment today, dear universe. I bargain with you, no shame intended, in the age-old way people bargained with God. I won't take you there - you've done it. You know what I mean.
So grateful, so happy, so blessed. It's not my line, but this is now, this is the eternal life. And it is sweet.
