Mornings Are Best

It’s the end of the month. I need to pay the bills. But not right now. I am sitting at the kitchen table with my cup of tea and two dogs under my feet. The house is quiet. Only the sound of the refrigerator is in my ear. Since it’s the weekend, the freeway noise is way down. I can’t tell from the sky yet what kind of weather lies ahead.
The birch trees are budding out. The wisteria smells lovely.
It’s a holiday weekend and also spring break for the local school kids. Half of my neighborhood is gone. One young family flew to Italy to visit relatives. Another family with teens headed to Hawaii. The streets will be calm for a week, no school traffic or crazy drivers trying to get their kids there on time.
I have a big party this weekend, a friend turning sixty. She is doing it up at a local country club. But I will be late. My sister is in the hospital. I am her caregiver and missed all the signs. The Thursday home health aide pointed them out to me when I got home the other night.
The hospital is noisy and a bit impersonal. No one helps my sister eat her meals. I want to be there to feed her. She is weak and needs nutrition. Yesterday I was with her all day except two hours when I ran home to feed the dogs and wash my dirty hair.
A dozen people came in yesterday: the nutritionist, the physical therapist, the doctor, the lift coach, the regular nurse, the food guy, the respiratory therapist, the speech therapist, and on and on.
She mostly slept. I read my Word War II book that my aunt sent me called Fly Boys. We are writing a book together about her dead war-hero brother, the uncle I never knew. He was shot down over Kobe, Japan, during a bombing raid just two months before the end of the war.
The book helped me pass the time yesterday. The trouble is now I am always going to think of the hospital and my sister when I think about that book, and vice versa.
She’s only 66, six years older than the woman whose party is tonight, three years older than me. Her health is going from bad to worse. It is hard to watch but also a good reminder that life is short and that I’d better do what I want to do now while I still can.
Like dance.
At my friend’s birthday party.
After I go to the hospital and help my sister eat her breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

One thought on “Mornings Are Best

  1. Ah, my love. Wondered why you were late, but couldn’t hear above the music! AND I was trying to serve you chocolate cake when you were walking by with a plate of dinner!!! Sending my love and big kisses and bigger smooches, to keep you strong and healthy and ready for these challenges. You are one of those special folks, chosen to be the caregiver… The Universe, Karma, God…whatever you believe in, will reward you with heaps of sweet, sweet wonders soon. I love you….


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