Monday, April 4, 2016

Going Back to Sleep with Stevie Wonder



You're up at five because you might still be on east coast time. You meditate and feel a wash of gratitude for the day you spent with friends from the east coast, for Sophie's dry palms (you'd felt them earlier), for something new in your life, for the beautiful morning. You do some work for The Job That Might Be No More. You make an egg and toast for Henry and refrain from telling him that last night you looked through his school papers and read on his leadership application that you were his mentor and most admired person because you take care of my sister and never give up and  she is always there even immediately after she's mad at me. You also refrain from telling him that your eyes dripped tears on the copy machine. After he leaves, you begin the process of getting Sophie ready for school. You're out of coffee (significant for what follows). Sophie has actually been up for hours, making your east coast time wake-up slightly less painful because you'd be up with her anyway, but you refrain from giving her CBD because you believe that she has reached saturation and that might be the reason for her inexplicable turn for the worse over the weekend. You have been stifling distress about this, but this morning her palms are dry and warm as opposed to clammy and cold, so you feel relief and wonder whether you'd better start yet another strain of the CBD or keep to this one at a lower dose. The only trouble is that the new one costs about five times more than the old one, and now that you have The Job That Might Be No More, you're definitely not going to be able to afford the new one. You'll think about that later and all the implications of Cannabis Capitalism as you've had no coffee and you forgot to buy some more for the third day in a row. You make Sophie's lunch and pack it in her backpack, then toast some bread and spread peanut butter on it for her, slice some strawberries and prepare her meds. You bring her into the kitchen and feed her. She seems much better, but by the fourth bite or so, she goes into a slow-motion dance, her arms bent at a weird angle, her fingers fluttering and her head turns to the left instead of right which is strange. You call her name and try to get her attention but she is elsewhere. You dissociate. In a couple of minutes she begins chewing whatever was in her mouth, and you finish feeding her. You bring her into her bedroom to change her for school, and she lays back on her bed and falls asleep. You turn on her iPad and curl up beside her listening to Stevie Wonder. Don't you worry bout a thing. You fall asleep because you've had no coffee and in your dream you are young and someone you loved is in the dream, but it's ok to wake up. It feels delicious today to have gone back to sleep, to then wake up.

They say your style of life's a drag
And that you must go other places
Just don't you feel too bad
When you get fooled by smiling faces.

14 comments:

  1. That sweet Henry, what a boy.
    Back to this realm of your life. An ordinary day, while knowing that no days are ordinary.
    I'll be thinking of you today and hoping that you get coffee - good, good coffee.

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  2. It is all there. Every bit of it. Every glorious joy, every deep felt fear. Music and light and dreams and tears and sleep and waking up.
    It is the world, in your hand.

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  3. I hope you woke up to dry, soft hands, sunshine outside, and happy boys.

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  4. In the mist with you and Sophie this morning. Beautiful beautiful post

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  5. Your writing touches me deeply. Henry gets all that you do.

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  6. Sweet post. So glad for your east coast trip with Henry. So glad you are home, doing what you do so beautifully.

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  7. That sucks about the job. Sorry. It must be nice to lay down with your daughter and fall asleep. And obviously Henry is a wise young man:)

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  8. can't imagine anything better and more loving to read than those words by your own son.

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  9. Virginia GilbertApril 5, 2016 at 7:09 AM

    Oh, Henry.

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  10. Your writing about your family is always so beautiful, and often (as here) so comforting, even amid the difficulties. I hope the job situation becomes clearer. Talk about living with ambiguity!

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  11. I love how you've captured the beauty of the little things, those oft overlooked things with such concentrated wonder that they keep our lives afloat <3

    Having my coffee only now myself since I ran out of filters and had to run out to the drug store (only place I've found in town with our size) before I could brew. I hope you find some delicious hot bean juice soon!

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  12. Oh Elizabeth, you never fail to move me with how present you are to all of it, the moment to moment flow. How delicious to fall back asleep next to your serenely sleeping girl, knowing she is fed, cared for, and that your son sees you clearly, sees all you do, and you are his hero. You are mine, too.

    Plus, my god, you can write like nobody's business!

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  13. What a precious gift you were given in those lines by Henry.

    And I'm so glad to learn I'm not the only one who keeps on forgetting to buy staples. (Even a written list doesn't always help; I either forget it at home or lose it.) Wishing Sophie a return to seizure-free days real soon.

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