Midnight Movement

I led the way to the bedroom, feeling badly.

He didn’t know he wasn’t going to enjoy this ride with Jeff.

I guess I went in first. I stood beside Jeff on his side of the bed, in the same spot I’d been standing in. But, it felt different. Different from the moments before. It felt weird.

We’d recently slid the bed straight across from the inside wall to the bowed-window wall. I was thinking, if we’d flip-flopped the bed, he should have been on the other side.

Instead, when we’d moved it, he kept his spot closer to the door. I was closer to the bathroom, just as I had been, and was suddenly wondering why.

It wasn’t such a mystery. Not even worth calling a question. The answer was easily there before I finished asking myself.

Midnight movement.

That’s what he’d called it. He’d said just because he was awake didn’t mean I had to wake up. He’d said having to walk around the bed meant he’d bump into stuff and would wake me. As far as I was concerned, the bumping concern far outweighed my need for sleep and was scarier than me without enough.

Jeff’s legs were sensitive and easily bruised, A break in the skin could easily become an ulcer. Ulcers easily became infected. Fighting infection was getting harder and harder. Poor blood circulation, neuropathy, obesity, heart issues, stomach troubles – were all set in motion by his unconquerable diabetes monster.

The soft snap of a glove snapped me out of my pondering.

I tracked the sound: startled to find the medic had moved around to the other side of the room and the other side of the bed. I hadn’t noticed. I’d thought he was still behind me or beside me. Not so far away.

I tracked the source: finding it. I stared at the glove, followed it to his wrist, up the arm – eventually traveling to the responder’s face.

There must have been something more than the vacancy I felt in my expression because he seemed a bit surprised.

I don’t know what question I was wearing, but his stop-in-mid-motion answer was:

“You know I’m not going to try to revive him, right?”

 

Quote for the Week: 2019 11 05 IF is a futurate escort jakorte

Couched

To say that I’d become accustomed to coming home to some sort of weird situation, is putting it mildly.

This time, Jeff was sitting-up on our living room couch. His head was bent as if he were scrutinizing his foot-ware. It took me a moment to realize he was fast asleep.

The sitting-up-sleeping thing wasn’t the unusual part. It was the fact that he’d couched. We rarely used our formal living room, even though it was right inside our front door.

All the good stuff, like the TV, stereo, surround-sound, book cases and treadmill lived in the den. It was where we spent the majority of our evenings, at home.

He woke up as I finished rustling in. “Oh, hey!” he said, cheerfully, like he hadn’t been completely conked-out. “You’re home early!”

I checked my watch. It was, indeed, a few minutes earlier than normal. “You’re right,” I agreed. “It’s only 5:45.”

“Huh. 5:45?” Jeff frowned. “I was just resting a minute after… oops!”

Wind-milling his legs for propulsion, he pushed off the couch, unsteadily heading toward our Dale Earnhardt shrine-home office.

Paused in the doorway, Jeff threw his arms up in frustration. “Aw, dang it! I never got the groceries put up!”

“When did you go shopping?” I asked, following. Gathering up bags, Jeff answered, “On my way back from dropping off the boxes.”

“When was that?” I prodded. He thought for a few seconds.

“I dunno.” He replied, pulling on his beard. “Sometime around 2:30-ish, I guess. I think I was home by 3:30.”

I was still processing that Jeff had been shoe-inspecting, sleep-sitting for over two hours, when the house phone rang.

Grabbing a few bags on my way to the kitchen to answer the call, I commented over my shoulder. “The milk’s probably no good, but everything else should be ok.”

“The milk’s probably ok, too,” Jeff hopefully argued, as he followed me.

I wrinkled my nose. He just laughed, and headed back to the other end of the house for the rest of the goods.

“Well, you’re the one that’s going to have to drink it…” I amusedly called after him.

I set the groceries on the counter near the phone, and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Hon!” the cheerful voice on the other end greeted me. We were lucky enough to have the sweetest, most sunshiny neighbor.

“Oh, I’m just checkin'” she chuckled. “Did Jeff tell you about the car, today?”

“About the car?” I squeaked.

Quote for the Week:2019 04 23 Resiliency adaptation jakorte

 

Carded

Remember how I’ve mentioned, more than a few times, the key to a good relationship is notes?

I mean, love notes, silly notes, random unexpected notes.

We both loved notes: handwritten, typed, sticky, email, text, added to a homemade or store-bought card. On a scrap of paper, a bank deposit slip – in any way or shape or form. A few words, a smiley face; maybe just a heart. Little reminders that we were part of a wonderful “We.”

I have a lot of “first” cards. First card ever. First Valentine’s Day.

My first birthday. A card Jeff gave to me the first time I shared his birthday with him.

First Valentine’s Day and birthday as “Wife.”

All these little sweet and silly stories hold a wealth of history and such huge feelings.

Quote for the Week: (contributed by my editor. ;-))

“Even though post-it notes are removable and can be moved from place to place, somehow, the post-it notes written by loved ones stick forever.”

2019 01 22 carded 3 jakorte2019 01 22 carded 2 jakorte

2019 01 22 carded jakorte