I am sitting in my morning chair, watching the swallows swoop about the skies, check out the birdhouses, chirping, chirping, chirping. The pair of goldfinch paused for a moment in the tree outside my window; just for a moment. The bluebird couple visited the birdhouse down below briefly; very briefly. And here I sit. Stuck in neutral, or is it perhaps park?
I look out at my bedraggled flower beds, at the pine needles and pine cones strewn about. I think the thoughts I have been thinking for many mornings – I need to get out there and start the spring cleanup. It is my job to do now, and I must get started. Daffodils and iris are sprouting, and the taller they get the more difficult it is to work around them.
I think these thoughts every morning. I make plans to start cleaning up every morning. Later, I say – later in the day when it is warmer, after I have gotten husband his coffee and his morning pills, once he is settled for awhile. Later.
Later never comes. Distraction happens, perhaps a little bit of a feeling of being defeated. Perhaps it all seems too much, too difficult. Perhaps a large dose of laziness. I sit. Stuck in neutral. Or park.
Thursday husband had an IV push of a radioactive fluid – a fluid designed to attack the cancer in his bones, thereby reducing his pain. We hope. A fluid that has been him somewhat radioactive, so Shasta and I have been sleeping in the middle bedroom, and Shasta is not understanding why she is not allowed on the bed with her dad. By tomorrow we should be able to launder his bedding, start fresh and go back to our normal sleeping arrangements. Assuming I do not get stuck in neutral. Assuming the increase in pain, temporary the literature says, has begun to fade so that he does not spend the night moaning and crying out as he has been.
And I sit – stuck in neutral. Afraid to start something in case husband needs my attention. Working through emotions, practicing patience, trying to determine what kind of food to prepare for husband, whose eating habits have become very fickle and whose hunger appears at odd times of the day and night. I resent being required to prepare food after 7 p.m. Then again, preparing food has never been my dream job. And then I chastise myself – the world has millions of people who would give the skies to be able to prepare food at 7 p.m., to have someone to prepare food for, to have food to prepare. How shallow I am.
It is a constant battle – this need to do, this urge to do nothing, this feeling of defeat, this searching for hope, this wanting so badly to have spring in my heart but instead knowing my heart is weeping, listening to husband’s pain, seeing his pain. And my way of protecting myself, with impatience, with resentment.
Stuck in neutral. But with hope that I will soon be able to get to at least first gear.
Outside, the swallows swoop and chirp. They are not stuck in neutral.