When’s the last time you were up at dawn?
Well, this morning: daily dawns came along with grief, as part of the package deal.
As soon as my husband was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, I lost my capacity to eat, sleep, and otherwise function . . . until the day I realized I had to amass some strength for his sake, and our children’s. But that’s another story (one I told not long ago on the Moth Mainstage in Boston).
I used to be inside at dawn and miss the whole thing. I was either sleeping or scurrying around the house, doing tasks, preparing myself and the children and dogs to set about the day–though, in the dogs’ case, they don’t really require that much preparation. Their duties are minimal, but important in their way.
Then, utterly unable to sleep while Jim was sick, I would wander outside with the beagles and see immense blankets of color above the pond where Jim would take in his last outdoor view of an orange perigee moon.
So even when I began recovering strength, I thought it worth keeping hold of the dawns.
Love in the Spaces 