I’m not sleeping but I don’t mind. For years I sat awake, staring at the ceiling, turning things over, worrying, wondering what to do about this or that. About Erik. And wake up in the morning, eyes raw and burning, all my bones feeling like they wanted to totter to the floor as I walked through the house, or our old flat in Boston, the wrecked and crooked path to the coffee maker. A night like this meant tired.
Now, it’s like time is different. Awake, asleep, it doesn’t matter. I hear the slow rise and falling of his breath. Long ago they thought the breath was the spirit that makes us alive. Hearing him breathe, watching his quiet face, makes me feel alive.
People are so beautiful when they sleep. I’ve always loved to look at people asleep. Leah, her face soft and open to the world, quiet. Not with any angers or hurts. Erik. Even when in waking hours he did nothing but pour pain on us, attack us with his anger, the fury that’s at his root. When he slept I could see the man I had fallen in love with. The man that once I knew.
Finn lies there, face open. Not with the questions that seem to be on his mind every day, the doubts. The feelings of being lost. He is just here, quiet with the dark, almost smiling at it. When I see that fulness my heart just wants to pour out over it.