Somehow, somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, I found myself without my mother at my side. She had wandered over to my brother’s space, and he was showing her his computer set-up — not that she understood any of it, but it was a distraction for her.
For ten minutes, I was able to sit, drink a glass of iced tea, munch on a tomato sandwich, and read.
What I began reading is a novel recommended by my Ex. (He still has the best eye when it comes to picking out what I would enjoy reading.)
For ten minutes, I read Adriana Trigiani’s Milk Glass Moon. I was entranced by the rhythm and cadence of her writing. When my mother returned at the end of those ten minutes, I found myself thinking my thoughts in Trigiani’s style, it was that compelling to me.
I hated to have to put the book down; yet I was glad at the same time because I didn’t want to finish it too quickly. I have a habit, when I start reading a novel I really like, of sitting down and not stopping until I’ve read to the last page. And then it’s over too soon.
Of course, I really don’t have the luxury of doing that kind of marathon read these days anyway.
Toward evening, it seemed as though my mother’s old “shingles” site was bothering her. Five years ago or so, she had a severe bout of shingles on her forehead and around one eye that could have blinded her in that eye. For years after that I made sure she took L-Lysine, which kept the residual effects of the shingles under control. I forgot all about giving it to her since we moved her a year ago. My bad.
She’s back on it as of tonight.
And now maybe I take another read/respite. More than ten minutes this time. I just hope that I don’t wind up staying up all night reading. Can’t deal with her tomorrow if I get no sleep tonight.