It is from that same window that I watched him grow..
perched high above the garden green.
Hands dreamily dipped in soapy water...I watch him unaware.
He bends to study a tomato in the same way I study my face.
Creased, rough, lined with age.
He picks it anyways..
We understand eachothers wounds...
and I make my way through the day by remembering.
Now the light has settled to dust
I wake from the pillow.
This one is wrong....creased, rough, lined with age.
The soft has gone missing.
So I walk to the window once more. But he is gone.
and I make my way through the night by remembering.
Since I really can't sleep..I write to you.
Caleb is truely doing very well. His memory is getting better in small, but detectable increments. He has begun some volunteer work at the Library and commented to someone the other day who ran into him " I used to like that place"..but he goes very willingly and drives himself there, which boosts his pride. I am beginning to pull together a program where Caleb and other "disabled" young men can get together a couple of times a week..he desperately needs new friends.
I believe that what happens here- in this situation I find us in- is that after the initial shock wears off, and all of life seemingly goes back to normal, there is no longer a normal for me..or for the boys. We are making a new normal up as we go..but finding our footing is difficult. I bask in the fact that Caleb is alive, but truth be told, this is difficult at best. I appreciate his smile each morning, but I miss the old grin. I walk beside him and treasure, but my treasure is missing.
I don't know how other people have made it through this!
Not to worry about me..I am a tough old bird. I just cannot grow into my new skin and enjoy it. My heart is bursting with pain and I am so sad........and so tired of being sad.