DARK OF NIGHT

The night wind rushes through the trees, bare branches tap the window pane. Pixi prowls the dark rooms, restless, as am I. My bed threw me out hours ago, refusing comfort, refusing ease.

Now wrapped in a sweater and a quilt, I sit, hollow eyed, staring at the dark. When did the black velvet sleep of youth depart? I never needed much of it, survived quite well with children's illnesses, bedside vigils, nights with fevered babes. No need for sleep, for rest, no need to escape the mortal toil.

That energy of youth has flown, the need for sleep has grown. Yet, it remains elusive, like a half remembered dream. I squirm to find a more comfortable place, the cat takes pity and jumps up on my lap, shedding white fur and warmth, vibrates contentment. We relax together in the comfort of the recliner. The storm beyond the window fades to a murmur, ceases to matter. My gaze has turned inward, toward memories.

Long ago, I knew separation. Like the cut of a sharp knife, circumstances separated us, my nuclear family, from everyone we knew and loved, never to see them again, perhaps never to know what became of them. It was a sharp and aching wound, too deep for mere tears to ease the pain. A numb paralysis of mind and spirit anesthetized for a while. We moved forward, on autopilot, because the body is programed to survive. And we did, in isolated bewilderment.

Letters were possible, what joy, what pain! The numbness lifted and feeling rushed in, life moved on. We lived on letters, and eventually it was possible to visit, to see face to face, to touch all the loved ones. Well, not all, some had not survived, we had mourned them far from the comforting arms, alone. We grieved together, at last, and filled in all the spaces, the details that could not be told in letters

We survived that, I mused. Surely this time it will be easier to endure.We need not lose contact. We have phones, email, text and face time. They are far away, my children this time, but they are strong and healthy, they come from stock that has endured and lived. They have all the weapons to survive. And they have each other, as do we.

Sunlight floods the room, the storm has passed. I had found rest. The warm furry weight comforts me, reminding me of a sleeping child. I know that what has been done before, can, and will be done again.

The grandmother left behind, and never seen again. She knew it would be so, yet did not say stay, or cry in our sight.