carrying the wait

I am tired.  Small children bother me.  The barking of dogs disturbs me.  The bread burns, the pot boils over, the water scalds, the bills mount, the milk curdles, the laundry sours, the phone rings incessantly... nothing is simple.  Life rushes ahead and none of it is comforting.

I am bitter.  Everything angers me.  Every simple chore has become a difficulty.  The sink is stacked with dishes.  The dog is not yet potty-trained.  The sheets need to be changed.  The floor is unswept and the lawn needs to be mowed.

I seethe with each task.  I gain a pound each time I look at food.  My hair has ceased to grow.  My skin blossoms with irritation.  Wine sours in my mouth.

I listen for the unspoken.  I keep note.  I bide.  I track.  I feel to my core the impending change.

Each jangle of the phone nettles me.  I answer warily.  It won't be long.   I am short and dismissive.  I am abrupt and irritable.  I drink more to feel less.

It is a countdown.

I've been told it won't be long, not to expect that she will last till Christmas.  I've been informed that she is already gone, that I wouldn't recognize her, that she is not the Gran I knew.

The children are sleeping.  The dog is in his crate.  The din of the TV hums from the other room.  I type. And delete.  And type.

Tomorow, the sun will rise and the it will begin again.  The dishes will still need to be washed, the paper will be spread out on the kitchen table, the dog will need to be walked, the litter will need to be changed.  Who knows how many things will remain the same?  Who knows if the unimaginable will come to fruition?  Will she leave me?  Will the sun set upon her face again?  Will the night fall without her heartbeat?  I spend these days waiting, wondering...

I am short.  I am tender.  Touch me lightly.  I cannot bear the weight.  The wait.  I cannot bear.