no expectations

Day 8

Eat when hungry. Sleep when tired.

--Zen wisdom

Phone call from the hospice social worker.

"How are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm eating breakfast," I say.

I don't add: An early breakfast, these days. It's only ten in the morning. Dinner ended near midnight, alone. Ditto the night before, with a friend. And the night before that, with another friend.

I'm doing as expected, I say. I don't mention the toilet plunger in the kitchen, not sure why it's there. Or Thunder was six morsels away from starvation, until I remembered to buy another six-pound bag. Or I'm wearing Rich's sweatshirt, four sizes too big, but his hugs are still in it.

He says, yes, it's a dumb question for such an enormous loss.

But what's expected, exactly?

I am paying the bills. I am washing the dishes (the plunger -- because the absurd food disposal is belching again). I am walking, twice as far today as yesterday, my lungs pumping and my legs happily sore.

I am eating when hungry. I am sleeping when tired.

Sometimes I don't eat much. Always I sleep, wouldn't miss a minute because Rich is the star of my dreams, taking me on a tour neither of us signed up for, but what a guide he is.

I have no expectations, mostly.

Except I will never stop loving Rich. Always, this is enough.

Candace