When, when will I begin to write each day and at least capture one interaction that sets the day alight with discovery.
Just back from some work at the home on Pickwick. The carpet is up in my room, the library and it's sectioned, rolled, and tied into sections by the garbage/recycling/organics cans out the back door.(Words added on Lindsay's 28th birthday, 5/30/2018, a recollection) ... The floor is clear, the hospital bed removed and life moving forward. The pulsing of the oxygenator, gone, and the quiet resolve of my mother, secure in her world of pain and enclosure, a room without a view and now there is silence and the world moves on.
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