I wake up at 3am every morning lately and wait. I am not sure what I am waiting for. Reprieve. I sit outside my daughter’s door and listen to the silence. She can sleep tonight at least. Good. I keep vigil. I resist the urge to quietly turn the knob and peek at her sweet peaceful face. Instead I stare at the white panels of her door, firmly shut. She’s painted the other side blue. The colour is on the inside.I do a series of crosswords. I find relief in solving puzzles. If only it were this easy. Koala. Inca. Vertebrae.I say the prayer of serenity with sincerity. I do know the difference between what I can and cannot change. Doesn’t help me get a wink of damn sleep.My husband might be up too, alarmed in a different way. If so, he’d be attending some heart attack or fire or overdose. He’d know what to do. Regardless of the sirens he probably gets a better sleep at the hall, despite all. I tend to sigh a lot and roll on top of the covers.I make tea. 5am now. I should have taken a sleeping aid (but I don’t want to get addicted) Now my whole day will be like the most boring episode imaginable of the walking dead. Then I decide to read a play by an African playwright, working my way through an anthology. We’re all shut in our houses around the planet but our minds can travel. She opens up a whole world to me. A world much much more dangerous for a mother and daughter to live in.Then I play a game of Scrabble with Dhaval, my Scrabble mate from Anantapur, India. He congratulates me on the Harris Biden win and says, “the whole world is relieved”. He jokes that sales will go down for sleeping pills and booze. I said, “Give booze a couple of weeks, there is champagne to drink”.6am now. Nanaimo Street is starting to rumble with trucks and whiz with cars. I wonder if I can catch an hour of sleep before the sun comes up and before my Fellow comes home from night shift? Probably not. I head towards the window to stare out at the dark street. What?! A blossom! Sometime between 3 and 6 this morning my first paper white bloomed right beside me.This. This is what I’m waiting for. This newness. This miracle of life. This mid winter spring. It’s all I needed. Just a little reminder. One fluttery white tuft of amazing.
Hey Lucia, I read all of your face book…my heart goes out to you.
I thoroughly enjoyed your bike marathon and was fascinated with pictures of doors and windows. I wanted to send you one to remind you of an unbelievable journey, hoping in some way it would bring back memories encouraging you not to give up. A battered dark green door missing a lot of the green. The door is sad, but drowning out the door are too large bright gold, almost perfect handles, ornate with no damage!
It reminded me that no matter how sucky life is, God will bring something good and beautiful. So often I lack the patience to wait for Gods timing and end up in self pity, knowing with God there is always hope!
I tried to send you a copy of the picture but couldn’t make it happen.
I pray for you often.
ali
my dear Alice, I am just reading this now, so many months later. But in a strange way, this is perfect. This is a hard day but a year ago, when Michael had his operation and his diagnosis, it was impossible to fathom. He is still with us and is doing remarkably well. We are grateful for every day we have. I love this image, I want to see it! The door and the handles. Thank you for your kindness and empathy. I really really really needed this message today. xoxoxo
Lovely again, Lucia.
I’m getting out of quarantine in a day or two. It was a strange thing to find that I can write more when I have lots to do than when I have nothing to do.
Take care
Keith
I am just reading this now, Keith, thank you! I put my focus on my novel that is coming out in the spring, now finally returning to my stories. I hope you’re safe and getting through this time.