To Sleep Perchance to Dream
I turn off the tv and peer down the stairs at the door to make sure it’s locked. I turn off the light in the corner of the living room and walk in the dark to the hallway. I turn on the light long enough to check the food in the cats’ bowl and make sure Gabe’s water is clean. He’ll want a drink after the lights are out. I turn out the light, turn on the ceiling fan and walk to my bed, checking to make sure the alarm is turned on and the radio volume is set. I crawl under the sheet and quilt, moving the pillows up above my head, out from under me so I can lay flat on my back for awhile.
It’s inevitable that I will think of it. It’s not every night but it’s often enough to be a pattern. I view places and words, smiles and memories. I hold conversations of truths and of falsehoods. I think, without hope, of what might have been if only I had chosen differently. If only he had.
Gabe comes to lay his head on the edge of the bed. A rub on the head, and behind the ear, with a whispered “goodnight” is all he needs to head off to his own bed. He’ll walk around a couple of times on his blankets before settling in. Sometimes he’ll lay right next to the bed for awhile first. Scout will come almost immediately. She’ll come up with a quiet ‘mew’, looking for a little attention before finding her spot between my knees. Jonah comes to bed last. He’ll walk through the house and talk for awhile, then come to the bed by way of the nightstand and curl up by Scout. He won’t last the night, I move too much for his liking, but he’ll be there until I fall asleep.
I talk to God for awhile. I pray for LM mostly. I pray for the people that I love, the people that I know and the people that need love, and need to be known. I pray for patience and for gentleness. And that I will always know that all that I have is more than I ever need.
And before I can succumb to sleep, before I can allow the peace to envelop me, I tell him that I forgive him. I forgive him for not becoming the man that he might have been. And I try to forgive myself for believing that he would.
Ay, there's the rub.
It’s inevitable that I will think of it. It’s not every night but it’s often enough to be a pattern. I view places and words, smiles and memories. I hold conversations of truths and of falsehoods. I think, without hope, of what might have been if only I had chosen differently. If only he had.
Gabe comes to lay his head on the edge of the bed. A rub on the head, and behind the ear, with a whispered “goodnight” is all he needs to head off to his own bed. He’ll walk around a couple of times on his blankets before settling in. Sometimes he’ll lay right next to the bed for awhile first. Scout will come almost immediately. She’ll come up with a quiet ‘mew’, looking for a little attention before finding her spot between my knees. Jonah comes to bed last. He’ll walk through the house and talk for awhile, then come to the bed by way of the nightstand and curl up by Scout. He won’t last the night, I move too much for his liking, but he’ll be there until I fall asleep.
I talk to God for awhile. I pray for LM mostly. I pray for the people that I love, the people that I know and the people that need love, and need to be known. I pray for patience and for gentleness. And that I will always know that all that I have is more than I ever need.
And before I can succumb to sleep, before I can allow the peace to envelop me, I tell him that I forgive him. I forgive him for not becoming the man that he might have been. And I try to forgive myself for believing that he would.
Ay, there's the rub.
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