That Space

There is this space, every morning somewhere between sleep and awake where peace resides. Nothing from the day before comes in, and the thoughts of today have not yet formed. It feels like floating.

I know this place well. It’s that same space I moved though after my father died and when I was dealing with depression. The space only lasts for a few seconds, too little to count, but long enough recognize and experience. I love that space and I dislike what comes after. The rush of: the cancer cells trying to stay alive in his body, the overwhelming to do list that seems to grow in importance, the needs of the kids, and Art and of myself all fall in, rushing to see who will be the first to fill the whole.

Art experiences the same space. When his space is filled he sighs a sigh of disappointment. And like me, feels the burden of no escape. We look at each other, smile and do what we do best, just show up.

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Yesterday was a hard day for him. He was awake but blurry and restless. He napped, woke up, was uncomfortable, too tired to move, but not needing to sleep. I watched him stare at nothing, like an old man. He raised his head, looked at me and made a “huh” sound with a quiet laugh. That’s what the next 3 – 4 days will be like, each one a bit better than the one before.

As Dory of Finding Nemo said, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming. Swimming, swimming, swimming” Who knew swimming could be so challenging?

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