Making the Bed

Since I am not visiting James today, this will be short.

I was making the bed last night and had a flashback to the moment I arrived home from work that Friday in March when I took James to the emergency room by ambulance. I recalled him lying in a strange fetal position on the bed and the crack of light from the door falling upon his body.  It makes me shudder now and feel a sink in my stomach, similar to watching a horror film in which you tell the character, "Don't walk into the basement, flee the house" but you know they will inevitably click on their flashlight and descend down the stairs.

It hit me really hard yesterday that James is disabled and that my imagined future is gone forever.

I had always joked with James that I would never retire because someone had to pay the rent.  That truth is even more heavy now that I have to plan how I will manage to pay for the necessary care for James--how to organize our lives moving forward. 

I also felt a loss of the joy we had while sharing our summers together--the hikes in California, swimming at the beach, or just sitting as a passenger in the car as James drove us out of town.  

I understand that he will recover yet we cannot know how much of his capacity will be returned to him.  

I do not mind being in the midst of this process but the time after this recovery period is the dark basement right now and I did not even give it a second thought until last night when I smoothed the sheet over the mattress.