The Little Green Guestroom

I woke up this morning in the small guest room in Riverdale (the Bronx). at Peter's and Xiomara's. The last time I slept in that room was March 18, 2014. How do I know with such certainty, without consulting a calendar? Because the following morning I was lying in bed, waking up luxuriously slowly, when my cell phone rang. It was David, calling from Korea, where his Army unit was stationed. Only, he wasn’t on base; he was in St. Mary’s Hospital in Seoul, where he had just been diagnosed with leukemia.

I must have driven home that day; but I don’t remember it. A week later we picked him up at Dulles Airport and drove to Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, which I dubbed WReNMiMiC. (I wanted an acronym and Matt found one: a real word, wrenmimic, that fit perfectly.)

My thoughts last night weren’t morbid; there was just an awareness of the significance of the moment. I also had in mind an old friend of mine, who is suffering from a rare and very aggressive cancer. I had just read the latest CaringBridge post from her daughter. The highlight of the post was that she'd taken a shower after days of excruciating pain.

My friend Kimberly, whose husband died of pancreatic cancer much too young, remarked once that cancer steals a person’s dignity. That’s true. The autonomy we so cherish, or would cherish if we didn’t take it for granted, evaporates. We lose the ability to get dressed and go out to the grocery store, watch a movie without pain, enjoy the pleasure of taking a shower independently, cook a meal, and eat raw fish at a sushi restaurant (if you like that sort of thing. I do.).

The memories last night haven’t sent me down into the abyss of grief. I’m feeling quite calm.  Life goes on: there are meals to cook, sushi to eat, grandchildren to play with.

Although I returned to my near-monthly routine of driving down to New Jersey and New York City about a year ago, I hadn’t sleep in the guest room again until last night. Peter and Xiomara have been trying to close on an apartment for over a year, and had filled the little green room with furniture and appliances destined for the new apartment in North Riverdale. On earlier trips, I've slept on their couch.

But yesterday, the bed had returned to a horizontal position, with a lovely comforter on top. The extra furniture and appliances are in the new apartment, which is being painted.

I was worried about sleeping in that little room, haunted by the ghosts of the past, but I've developed a little stratagem. After lights out,  I count by threes. I’ve always had some dyscalculia, so its a challenge to  get past 39. The concept is to focus on the task of counting and let other thoughts and worries drift through my relaxed mind. I start playing with the numbers, noticing when familiar numbers come up: 54, 60, 81 and checking that the digits always add up to a multiple of three. I know, it’s elementary stuff, but it works. The concept is to keep enough focus to let go of agitation and let my mind drift in and out of consciousness. I don’t know if this will work long-term, but right now it’s a useful tool in my mental toolbox.