Wednesday, April 28, 2021

Only One of a Many Caregiver's Stories

April 28, 2021

It's a Wednesday.

Writing provides a satisfying and gratifying way for me to take a deep explorative dive into the depths of all of me.  I generally start out with a glimmer of an idea and soon find myself curiously wandering in and out of the nooks and crannies that make up my being.  I like looking around, seeing what's there.  I have become familiar with some of the paths I find myself on, but there is always more to discover. 

Lately a path I have been distressfully visiting way too often is dark and cold and colorless with boulders of angry criticism blocking the light.  I don't like it there.  But it's there, and stubbornly refuses to be ignored.

These days I don't often have the luxury of the alone time I need to totally absorb myself in my writing. 

For instance, right now, this very moment, I am distracted with the anticipation that my trance will be interrupted.  Thoughts of the morning tasks that caregiving requires are begging for attention. 

I expect that I soon will  be called upon to help selecting the appropriate clothing for the day.  

I hear my name being called from the bedroom.  "Lynda".  I think to myself, it's a sweet sound, really.  

He comes out of the bedroom, walks over to me, and bends down for a kiss.

And he brings with him the light.