Nothing to do

Nothing to do

“There’s nothing to do,” I say to myself. There’s plenty that needs doing... just not things that can distract me from my thoughts. How does one distract themselves from their thoughts? I’ve tried to go to sleep, but I’ve never been one to go to sleep during the day, and lately during the night either...

I’m downstairs, he’s upstairs, asleep I believe. He’s never had much trouble sleeping, but now he sleeps erratically, some at night, some in the daytime. I want him to sleep, it’s good for him, but when he sleeps in the daytime, well, even at night, I’m afraid he’s not going to wake up.

I’ve imagined the scenario. He doesn’t come down for an extra-long time, I go to check on him and he’s passed. It will happen one day, maybe not in his sleep. But I hope it’s in his sleep.

In my imagination when the time comes he will go to sleep and start dreaming a happy dream and just pass on. Does that happen really? But, of course, then I have to imagine me going up to check on him. I would be the one, I’m the only one here. I always get stuck then. I don’t want to imagine that part. I don’t want him to go.

I think about all the women I’ve know who lost their husbands and I wonder why I never asked what they did when it happened. It’s too personal, of course, but I wonder, and I wonder what I’ll do. I guess I’ll find out.

But not today! I hear him moving around. He’ll call soon to ask me to help him come downstairs. Suddenly I can breathe again. Suddenly I can think of things to do. Suddenly I’m whole again. Well, for a while anyway.