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