Recovery?

After 4 months of sleeping 8-9-10, even 11 hours a day, I seemed to bounce back with the spring sun. I awaken with the same relaxed joy now as before, but with only 7 to 8 hours sleep. I tell friends i am doing better, and i am.

But even now, often —- maybe usually — after a visit with don i need to nap. I think it is just needing to take the time to recover – short-circuited every day because there is no end. There may never be an end to these reverberations. An emotional amputation.

Today was an interesting case. A neighborhood garage sale had me up way early. It was all low key and kind of fun. But several hours of standing in the sun left me wiped.

Then i had another crowd scene to check on the Watershed Sentinel stand at Cumberland’s Empire days. Scores of great and joyful booths and a great time.

Thanks to a friend i was able to take off early. Got home and fell asleep for 3 hours.

So much for recovery. I am just weak, physically and emotionally.  I think this opens a door to the spiritual but I need to decide to walk in. The last time i did was almost 40 years ago. I never regretted it, but it took years to reconstruct an outer shell that worked in this “real time” world.

And all the while Don’s voice echoes in my head. Today it was from our dancing yesterday at happy hour at the care home. (Pop instead of booze, but music and laughter amid the dozing and the wheelchairs). Whenever he realizes it is me, or rather, that i am his woman, because i don’t think he really remembers me anymore, just the feeling of our life and love, he gets very busy figuring out how we can spend the night together although “Not to do anything.”

Back in the care wing — “There will be supper here” “oh do you have money?” — I somewhat absently-mindedly stick-handle the inquiries about where we would sleep together that night, made more difficult because all the cells in my body  too agree we belong wrapped together happily snoring.

Then in great comic relief, the staff start a little joking around skit with lots of innuendo. We all are laughing, in a quick and wonderful release, as most of the patients sleep.

Don, surrounded by laughter that makes no sense and focused on his driver who will get us wherever — the magic home — says tenderly, “Maybe you shouldn’t have any more to drink, what do you think, babe?”

I say, “I think you’re right.”