I lose days.
I spend them alone,
in the dark,
listening as the world
moves around me.
My daughter needs her hair braided
and my son needs help tying his
new shoes. My teenager needs
a ride to school and my husband
needs to get in bed with my
head and my eye mask and my
scented lotion...
all without bouncing too much
and this is only the first day lost.
By day two I emerge from the
darkness,
tiptoeing and forcing a smile.
My daughter's hair is pulled
back in a pony tail.
My son has slipped on his boots.
My teenager is off somewhere to return sometime.
My daughter, only nine, watches as I lay on the couch.
Already she understands and brings
me the frozen peas. They melt on
my head as I fall asleep again.
I loose days and by day three how
many I've lost doesn't matter.
My head is not pounding and my eyes
can face the light but the guilt of
having lost days overwhelms me. I
spend the rest of the week trying
to make up for the lost time.
French braids, double knots, and
rides in the car just because I can.
Next: Day to Night
