The Sky Is Moving

the Palinode asleep

The sky is slowly moving from pre-dawn to morning light, and I can see snowflakes dropping through the branches of elms outside our bay window. It is suddenly winter, and I do not mind in the least. For over thirty-four years, I have faced winter with dread, but today, it is just another piece of the backdrop to a life I would have no other way.

The Palinode is sleeping comfortably in our living room cum bedroom. He slept comfortably all night. A week ago, it did not feel as though something as simple as this was a thing that we could hope for before next year, if ever. I felt despairing over the last year each time he screamed in pain over something as minor as sitting up or rolling over, but last night, he kissed my forehead when I had trouble sleeping and pulled me closer.

Before we left the hospital yesterday, a couple of physical therapists came to show the Palinode how to walk with a walker, and as I watched his slow shuffle down that fluorescent hallway, I wept just a little. It was joy. He was standing straighter than I have seen in the last ten months, and walker or no walker, we can look each other in the eye again.

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50x365 #57: Peter W.

The Palinode's Back, By Which I Mean That He Is Home