I have nothing to write
As I ponder this night
Stars hidden behind heavy clouds
Alone in my bed
Alone in my head
Just another soul lost in the crowd
What value is life
With all lost in strife
And a heart too heavy to carry
So I fluster for reason
In this hell-induced season
Destitute, defeated and weary
Not long ago, I had the joy of sharing a hospital room with a very special woman for two weeks. Irene, at 92, was a spitfire when she was lucid, as endearing as a 2-year-old when she was not. She was afraid of the world at night and I would pull up a chair just to hold her hand through the dark hours to assure her that all was well. Her response was so precious. She was not able to speak well, but when she was very pleased, she would take my hand and place it on her cheek, then she would continue to hold it, squeezing now and then to make sure I knew she was awake and wanted me beside her.
Irene’s daughter, Karen came everyday, joy lighting up Irene’s face, just at hearing her voice.
This is not the best quality of a picture as it was with an old phone, but it speaks volumes about what bedside means to me.
The Beloved Desk
When I was a very young girl, my family had moved to a new city and we got an apartment from two lovely elderly sisters that resonated with kindness. One of the treasures that they gave us was a wooden desk with a drop table. When I was young, my mom used it as a storage area for many things from safety pins to bits of paper, bills, forgotten tickets, report cards, table cloths.. etc. You can imagine the enjoyment I had rummaging through each little drawer, nook and cranny.
Today, this treasure is mine and I happily sit here day after day with my laptop. My own notebooks collect here as do my pens and papers, but I try to keep it in good order. This is not just a routine, this is a lifetime of memories that inspires me in the thoughts that it has tucked into its very fibre.