Sleepless
I could have taken a pill to help me sleep tonight, but I didn't, so now it's just me and the quiet house and this humming computer. Who else is awake tonight? Who else is watchful and tired, all at the same time?
My father called me today to update me on my grandmother. When he arrived Friday, she was still conscious and had a few moments of lucidity. She spent much of Saturday talking to the dead---her husband, her parents, her sisters. My father sat up with her through the long dark night, reassuring her that it was okay to let go, promising her that he would take her back to Sharptown at long last. Today, she lapsed into silence and a waking dream-like state. Her breathing is more shallow, more labored.
I don't know if she's really seeing/hearing those who have died. I want to believe that they're there, watchful and loving, gathered around her bed, and that their presence brings comfort. I want to believe that when I'm ready to begin my own long walk, I'll see her waiting for me.
But I don't know. I don't know for sure. And the not knowing is like a stone lodged in my heart. I go to church and recite the words and feel the presence of something divine in the ritual of bread and wine. I want to believe that there is more than this life, that there is peace and comfort and love beyond this place.
I want to believe that when my grandmother finally lets herself go, she will be healed and whole again, and there will be nothing but joy and peace for her.
I want to believe, but the night is so dark, and so long.
My father called me today to update me on my grandmother. When he arrived Friday, she was still conscious and had a few moments of lucidity. She spent much of Saturday talking to the dead---her husband, her parents, her sisters. My father sat up with her through the long dark night, reassuring her that it was okay to let go, promising her that he would take her back to Sharptown at long last. Today, she lapsed into silence and a waking dream-like state. Her breathing is more shallow, more labored.
I don't know if she's really seeing/hearing those who have died. I want to believe that they're there, watchful and loving, gathered around her bed, and that their presence brings comfort. I want to believe that when I'm ready to begin my own long walk, I'll see her waiting for me.
But I don't know. I don't know for sure. And the not knowing is like a stone lodged in my heart. I go to church and recite the words and feel the presence of something divine in the ritual of bread and wine. I want to believe that there is more than this life, that there is peace and comfort and love beyond this place.
I want to believe that when my grandmother finally lets herself go, she will be healed and whole again, and there will be nothing but joy and peace for her.
I want to believe, but the night is so dark, and so long.