We do not walk alone,
But in faith,
Holding on to the promise.
Early in the morning, I sit at the round oak table in the kitchen. I am numb from three o’clock morning starts and eight in the evening collapses into my chair. Lately, home has become something to achieve rather than something to assume.
I sit . . . a tired old man, closer to defeat and uselessness than I wish to admit, waiting for a simple breakfast of oatmeal to be done. Gretchen is barking at a sound she heard through the front door, but soon tires of the futile exercise and resumes guarding the front room . . . from a favorite couch cushion.
Today is different. At seven instead of three-thirty in the morning, the two hundred plus mile odyssey starts. It’s early dialysis day.
But . . . soon the adventure of the day will be cut short for another . . . a different adventure when my Sweetheart is transferred to a nursing home in the area. Unfortunately, the difficult part of her hospital stay begins with the transfer.
She will not be coming home.
The only light comes from the small light above the stove burners . . . and I bask in the artificial annoyance. In a while, the new morning sunlight will spill through the small window above the stove. The room will then be flooded with life and promise. I love this time of the day and quietly sit and let a series of familiar chest pains pass. They are worrisome in their frequency and viciousness . . . stress . . . I imagine, will kill us all in the end.
Breakfast is oatmeal and two sausage patties, with a little cinnamon sugar, and two packages of artificial sugar garnishing my coffee. Sometimes when pressed to get out the door, I have toast, or old very, very well toasted leftover refrigerator biscuits. It is during breakfast when the realization that this is the situation I face during the years to come. For now, I am an Old Guy alone with a small black dog. My Sweetheart will not be coming home and I grieve her loss more than can be imagined. She has been my life for nearly thirty years.
During the quiet morning hours, everything added together seems overwhelming. Time will tell if I have the will, faith and desire to step up to the level required of me. One of the side effects of my nerve pain medication is depression and that is a shadow demon I have held at bay for the last few years. I will also have to be careful that when melancholy, or self-destructive moments surround me they are a road best not traveled.
Not long ago . . . my Sweetheart asked me if I was about to give up on her because she was about to give up on herself. I told her . . . “No don’t give up Sweetheart . . . I still need you.”
She smiled her sheepish innocent smile I love so much and nodded off to sleep.
Helpless, From A Poem by John E Moss Copyright 2015
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