I am a little stressed. I stare at the computer screen. Words are not flowing. There is no fathomable rhythm. There is no starting point and no ending. Today is just one of those monotonous days.
You know, the type of day where you just go through the motions. I didn’t ask myself why there were so many dirty dishes in the sink this morning. I just used a little soap and washed them.
The type of day where it doesn’t really matter if the bed is made or not. I just pulled on the corners of the comforter a little and made it a bit more straight.
The type of day where I answer the phone and I really don’t have anything to say to the person on the other line. There’s very little to discuss that hasn’t been mentioned before.
There are little problems around me.
I say little because I am trying not to make a big deal of them. At least until the time comes.
But my best friend in the world is dying. Little by little. My Dalton, my sweet Dalton. The cat who thinks of bringing me pigeons, mice, rats and squirrels as offerings of love. The cat who prefers to drink out of my cup rather than a water bowl. The cat who stretches himself as far as possible just to lick the last bit of yogurt from the cup. The cat who I’ve loved relentlessly the past 9 1/2 years. My friend. My friend who squints his eyes in love and understanding. Each day gets harder and harder. I know what I must do. It’s a matter of being prepared. I think to myself that once he’s gone a piece of me will die with him. I think it already has.
In the shadows of this situation there are others happening in which I want them to be little problems. Things that can be fixed with a little ingenuity. But they are overshadowed. School can wait a semester until funding can come through. School will always be there. Another surgery? My hopes and dreams of feeling normal. Being able to walk in the sand instead of limping to the coastline. Being able to go for a run rather than cry into a pillow. Being able to walk for hours and not have to rest for “just a little while”.
It’s the little things, isn’t it? The phone calls in the middle of day. I love you. No, I love you. I love you more. Popsicles that drip down the back side of our hands. A bowl of popcorn while watching a much loved movie. Closing the bedroom door and reading a good book. Taking a nap while my arm envelopes my baby, making us one once again. The feel of fabric long forgotten in a dusty box. A handwritten letter.
And even a little knitting. On little needles. And little yarn. And just a little progress.