Bedtime Blues


I don’t particularly like bedtime.  It strikes me that my sadness at bedtime hasn’t lessened one bit in the interval since Kevin’s death.  It’s been numbed somewhat by the sleeping pills I take but it hasn’t changed otherwise.

I still sleep in the same bed that Kevin and I shared. For a few days I moved across the hallway and slept in a spare bedroom but that just didn’t feel right.  So I moved back into our bed in our room.  The music in the bedside clock radio is still the last CD he ever listened to.  His reading glasses are in the bedside table drawer.  The last books he looked at were art books on Escher and Magritte and they remain untouched where he left them, little pink sticky notes marking pages likely for his next inspiration.  I have left everything as is quite deliberately. Here I can surround myself with placeholders and mementos recognizing the warmth and comfort they bring is fleeting.

This has been a long, hard week filled with stress and worry.  It’s almost over now and things are starting to look up, finally.  It was the last week of June 2014 when this journey started and it seems likely that it will be the end of June this year when things will finally end.  Tomorrow I will make a visit to the hospital, and by all accounts, it should be a good one with things progressing well.  However, until this is over, really over, it’s still the same routine.  I will go to my little refuge, my bedroom, and while I lie in bed waiting for the haze to envelop me I will look around and remember, and for that brief time in that hazy state I can believe that my family is complete.  If I time it right, the pills kick in and I don’t have to surface from my imaginings, they just fade into a solid six hours of drug-induced and dreamless sleep.

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