Two Zombies

It is nearly midnight this Thursday night and I have finally settled into bed hoping to wind down after two wild and crazy days. With my pillows all fluffed up behind my back and the reading light beside my bed highlighting the latest stack of books waiting to be explored, I sit ready to write a blog. My mind struggles to let go of what I have seen and heard and experienced these past few days, hoping to concentrate on Susan and her life here with us. I think about her doctor’s visit yesterday, her bright orange outfit that she has worn since Tuesday, her desire to help in the kitchen in hopes of hurrying dinner along when she is hungry and I remember finding her in the kitchen drinking a cup of instant coffee before the sun was up this morning. My hands wait patiently on the computer waiting for my mind to begin to organize its thoughts and tell them what to type. My overtired brain struggles in my lighted corner of this otherwise dark room and I feel almost like I am floating in a sea of thoughts. Suddenly, the midnight silence is broken with the sound of my bedroom doorknob jiggling. “No,” I scream inside my head. “I am off duty now. Come back tomorrow- or the day after!" Jiggle. Jiggle. It is Susan wandering the house, checking for neighbors and seeing to it that we are all locking our doors. She can’t stand open doors, and unlocked ones don’t allow her to rest. Mine is locked. She doesn’t get in.

My dilemma begins. My tired back looses and my feet slip into their slippers and begin walking me toward my now silent door knob. I meet Susan in the hall headed toward another locked doorknob. Shake. Shake. “Susan,” I ask, “What are you wondering around for at midnight?” “I’m looking for the baby.” She states flatly, almost as if she is really asleep. I have heard the baby story before, in fact, she has been looking for this baby for over a week now. “There is no baby. Go to bed before the boogie man gets you.” I smile as I hear myself say that. But I have no energy to say anything else. She doesn’t argue with me tonight. We resemble two zombies of the night. She turns and heads toward her room, almost as though she is thankful not to have to worry about the baby tonight. I make sure she enters her room and as the door is closing I add, “I love you.” “I love you too.” She responds just before she disappears. As I walk back toward my cozy spot in my own bed I hope that the sound of her door locking really means this is it for the night. Tomorrow will surely begin early. When does she sleep? I wonder. When do I sleep? Myself wonders back. Good night.