biding time

by Bella Rum

I’m sitting here in the dark. Only the confetti-like concoction of pinpoint lights emanating from the electronics pierce the darkness: a red dash from the phone, tiny white numbers from the cable box clock, vertical blue lights from the router and horizontal green lights from the modem. I won’t flip the light switch because H is sleeping beside me. We’re both exhausted. One of us sleeps – like normal people – when he is tired, one of us sits in the darkness.

Life is a whirlwind of activity when we’re here. There’s always so much to do. The caring and feeding  of Dad is predictable and we seldom deviate from that routine . Dad loves routine. Dad’s world revolves around his television, his chair, his daily routine, those who take care of him and those who visit him. Our lives become small in the end. Routine gives us something to hang our hats on, something that proves we’re still here.

We always have or find a zillion other things that need doing. There’s the usual, the things you would expect: trips to the pharmacy and grocery store, cleaning, cooking, laundry. Lots of laundry. Piles of laundry. Mountains of laundry. Just makin’ my point.

H helps a lot, but he always has extra things to do. This is an old house and it needs a lot of fixing. I’m sure my brother will do a major overhaul when Dad is gone, but it would be too stressful for everyone to do it now.  Meanwhile it’s patch, patch, patch.

Dad had a great birthday party. He was a little anxious that it would rain and we would find it impossible to get his wheelchair across the yard to my brother’s house. It was a beautiful day and we had quite a group. He has talked about it ever since.

I’m ready for coffee. I can see the slightest hint of daylight out there. Time for H to wake up. That’s what I think anyway.  We will leave for home at noon. I-64 is calling my name. Have a good one.

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