This is the new format of my days. I wake up. I take my shower,
I eat my bowl of cereal, as always, but I’ve taken to eating it in bed. And then having a small bit of coffee. Between the ankle and the ear, it just seems to be easier all around right now.
I then get online and answer email and do the usual daily blog stuff.
All while this monotonic sound fills up my left ear. I have tried to figure out how to describe this sound. Sometimes there are pitches to the sound, but mostly it’s this one sound.
The dogs and I loll about in sheets and blankets and quilts, and I haven’t bothered to make the bed all week. This is our lair.
We look out the window at the occasional bird hopping around. From the chirping sounds, I can usually tell what bird is out there. (I can hear it because my right ear is closest to the window.)
Charlie sometimes puts his paws up in the windowsill and stares at something out there, completely fixated, his whole body trembling. A squirrel or cat, I figure.
I am tired much of the time. Sometimes I can’t make it past 8:30 p.m. I will tell myself I’m going to pick up my book and read, but somehow I haven’t this week.
The sound in my left ear could be described as quiet. On the other hand it sounds like ocean waves crashing against rocks. Or an Oklahoma wind sweeping down the plain. I can’t decide if it is soundless or full of sound.
So I lie here and stare out the window until darkness falls. And I think about all these things. The dogs sleep and snuffle and chase critters in their sleep alongside me.
Yesterday morning I called my younger daughter, and asked if I could take up a few minutes of little Andrew’s time. I want him to know my voice.
And so as she held the phone to his ear, I prattled on about the fact that he’s now, just since last week when I saw him, walking around holding on to the furniture. In a week I bet he’s moved on to the next phase. And soon he will be unstoppable.
His reaction was to try to put the phone in his mouth, as babies tend to do.
I have not been able to see my other two grandchildren in well over a year now, and I miss them terribly. Their parents have split up, and I wonder how they’re handling this new way of life.
Relationships between husband and wife, or mother and child, are sometimes so fragile and full of complexities.
Sounds. Sounds can be so important in life.
Sometimes I hear a sound, and it turns my head. I know I’ve heard it before. But I’m at a loss to remember when and where. Or whether it was significant or life-altering.
I miss the sound of my granddaughter’s laughter. The way she’d tilt her head back and laugh with abandon. She and her brother have had two birthdays now, as of last month, that I have missed. She is six and he’s eleven.
Last week I saw their photos at my younger daughter’s house, and they look so different. Their faces are taking on the look that they will carry into adulthood.
It helps, though, that little Andrew sits and listens to his Grammy’s voice. Surely, over time, committing it to memory.
And hopefully, the other two will not forget me either. Or the sound of my voice.
I guess sometimes you just have to sit by and wait things out.
So if at times you read sadness in between the lines here, this is why.