Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Coffee in the Morning

I would wake up. The house would be nearly silent--the only noise the slight hum of the a/c. I'd groggily slip from my bed and peek in to my parent's room. Dad was long gone to work, and mom was curled up in a ball on the left side of the bed, her dialysis machine still chugging along. Sometimes I would leap on to the bed and scare her awake, other times I'd carefully shake her shoulder and kiss her smooth cheek. I almost hated waking her up, because I knew she'd been up most of the night with some awful ache or pain that medicine could not dull. Most days, I'd let her sleep until ten or so. Her eyes would slowly open and she'd smile at me. I'd lay there and hold her hand until her dialysis machine was done. She'd shuffle into the kitchen and make some coffee.

I miss the smell of coffee.

Now, I wake up. The house is quiet and dad is long gone to work. But it's just me. Me, my thoughts, and I. No smiles, no good mornings. I only smell coffee if I make it myself.

 I don't know. Sometimes it feels so cruel that I had to lose my mom at the age of sixteen. I long for her warm smile and sound advice. Her willingness to point me to the Lord. But I know that it would be even crueler to ask for her back. Who am I to wish her down from Heaven to this awful place? She was suffering, and now she is whole.

But, boy, do I miss her.

I'm really only writing this because there's no one to talk to, and honestly, I'm a little lonely.

xo,
Katy

No comments:

Post a Comment

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...