Sometimes when I open my eyes I feel the heaviness of the day embracing my body like it thinks it’s my duvet and it’s job is to wrap itself around me. At least now it’s only sometimes. In those first few weeks I felt the weight of the day like a quilt laying on me every morning and I learned quickly to hate mornings. Those were the words I felt and repeated as I lay in my bed every morning during those first few weeks: I hate fucking mornings. I hate them.
Today is one of those days. In that space in time before your eyes open but life is easing it’s way in, I felt the warmth of my kitten purring on my chest, the ceiling fan whirring oblivious above me, birds chattering outside. What time is it? His watch wasn’t on my arm but the sun was trying, faintheartedly, to shine through my windows. It must be 5:30 or 6. I have time. Time to open my eyes and let reality thrust itself on me. It likes to wrap itself tightly around me in those moments just before I open my eyes for the day, as if it’s only job is to remind me what awaits. I used to tell him when he had morning likes this that “you never know what will happen in a day”, because we really don’t know what can happen in any given day. I, for instance, had no idea that on that Tuesday morning, when I opened my eyes and met the day in a friendly, inviting way, that someone would knock on my door to tell me my husband had shot himself in the head. Oh, I’m sorry, is that too graphic fro you? Well actually I’m not sorry at all. It’s a difficult sentence to read even when it’s not your husband of whom I speak. Anyway, on this morning I don’t have the luxury of letting the intrusion of reality settle in gently. I don’t have time to let my heart and soul and mind come to terms with this reality I am living so that they don’t feel shoved into gear like a poorly driven car. You never know what will happen in a day used to mean the day is full of wondrous possibilities. Now it means the world is unpredictable and tragedy has no sense of decorum or compassion. It comes and goes as it pleases. It thrusts itself into your life then moves on unceremoniously, leaving you to pick up the pieces of the destruction it left behind. So yeah, you never know what will happen in a day. I hope nothing happens today.
Tears met the intrusion of today with vehement protest. I can’t get out of bed. You have to get up. It’s Tuesday again. You have to go to your office, log in and work and pray that nothing happens to day. But the tears. How can I work? How can I pretend none of this happened. Then I remember, newly planted coreopsis are waiting for my visit, and marigolds and verbena and garden phlox all wait patiently for me to tend to their faded blooms and tell me all of the secrets they learned overnight. I must get out of bed. My garden has things to tell me. I’m sure the lillyturf will ask why they don’t yet have a home. They might need water I’m sure, to prepare for the sun that will soon reach down with its sultry warm hands to drink up any moisture laying haphazardly around. Faded blooms need pruning. Potted plants await placement in their homes in the ground. I must get up. The garden has secrets to tell me. I hope nothing happens today.