upstairs

From upstairs I can hear them muddling about, getting ready for school. I have yet to get out of bed, the pain and fatigue are holding me captive under the covers. I worry my job will one day tire of me being tired. I lay there, knowing I will be late, again. The sun through the window plants a golden square on my floor. It illuminates the socks I tossed off in the middle of the night, each pale yellow dog hair glimmers proudly to be embedded in my blue cotton comfy socks. .

From upstairs I can hear them. Doug is making coffee and the sudden whirl of the coffee grinder temporarily drowns out the cartoons Mattie and Allie are watching. The cat paws at the downstairs window. This is how he demands his breakfast. Billowing up the stairs, I hear chatter and toast popping from the toaster and the buzz of text messages that come during breakfast. Our dogs are like a tap troupe on the hardwood floors. They need their nails trimmed. Erin heads down the stairs into our front dining room and they all share small talk. Who is staying late after school? How much money to we need to pay for that field trip? Pass the milk. I hear them share their ordinary morning and I wonder, is this what it will be like, when I am gone.

Will I be able to look in on my family, that I love so much and share their morning conversations? Will I be someplace almost close, like upstairs, in bed. Can I follow along the same way I eavesdrop this morning?

Mattie is not feeling well and she asks Doug for some cough drops to take to school. I will cuddle with her tonight on the couch. I take a deep breath and decide to let the tears go ahead and run down my face. I cry to think of the times when I won’t be there to dispense cough drops and cuddles. Will I be able to send comfort from beyond? I tell the girls that after I am gone I will still be there, in spirit, watching over them all of the time. I tell them this when we talk about these things that are hard to talk about. They seem comforted by our conversations. Still we all cry.

Someone pours kibble into the dog’s bowls. I hear the twins head upstairs to brush their teeth. They giggle and share inside jokes only twins think are funny. I quickly dry my eyes in case they decide to come in my room to kiss me goodbye. They do. I wish them a good day and send them off to school. Doug will drive them.

From upstairs I can hear them muddling about, Doug is looking for his glasses and Allie gathers her viola. Then the house falls silent. Is this how it will be?