Something about holding a sleeping child in the midst of loss comforts beyond belief.
I know that I must be letting go of my father at the same time that I am dealing with the loss of my husband, putting him in a long term care facility which he won't leave. The finality of that personal decision seems not much different from realizing that an 89 year old dad who says "Let me go" has probably lived as much of life as he wants.
So I rock my grandchild (his great grandchild) and I smell her breath and I keep "pink bunny" near her chest and I know the cycle of life is real and wouldn't be so sweet if it lasted forever but then cycles are supposed to last forever. Round and round I feel myself spinning. I guess no one ever said each of us gets to ride that cycle.
Whitman said, "Look for me under your feet. I am the grass."
Sometimes I think I'm chafe, but today Lily, my granddaughter, held her first tiny branch of forsythia, and I am reminded that spring does finally come around and all the cliches are true.
CHECK: Is the toilet lid closed so Lily won't fall in and drown? Is the toilet lid open so Bob can find it and use it?
GETTING Bobba dressed: "Here are your socks, Bob. Bob! Not the shoes. Take this sock." I put the sock into his hand. He gets it on.) Lily hands me his other sock and says, "Bobba.
A minute ago, I run back to the bedroom to check on both of them: Bob is bopping to "Willy the Wooly Mammoth" since I've switched to toddler tunes upstairs. Lily is eating one of my credit cards as she's gotten into my purse and is thinking of shopping.
This may be a theme for a bit. Overall Bob still sleeps well at night. He can even get up and walk down the hall to the toilet. However, returning to bed has become enough of an ordeal that I am fully awakened nightly. He generally makes it back to the bedroom, but he has a tendency to make a right turn which sends him to my side of the bed (one time he plopped down on my sleeping form!!! that's one reason why I make sure I wake up) but more often he can sit on (his side of) the bed and then begins a fumbling mess until he manages to get under the covers without shoes. Almost always he needs my assistance. A couple of nights ago I was aware that he'd not returned to the bed in an expected amount of time (a week or so ago I had found him down in the kitchen wandering about; this time I looked into the bathroom, didn't see him, went in search, no luck. I returned to the bathroom to look again and glanced into the connected tub room: he was standing in the tub. Unthinking I asked, "What are you doing in there?" "Where? Where am I?"