She sits alone in the hickory rocker in her living room, gazing out the window at the world beyond. Her devoted canine companion is stretched out on the kitchen floor, soulful eyes following her every movement, ready to lend comfort or just a reason to go outdoors. “Yes Mom, I need a walk. Go get your coat.” The soft purr from the oxygen machine in the bedroom is the only reminder that she is not the sole human occupant in this house: her husband of 45 years, lies on the hospital bed, lingering in his last days on this earth. They share a family, kids, grandkids, a whole life together.
With COVID-19 restrictions, visitors have dwindled. She tackles small sewing projects, finding comfort in the completion of stitching tasks. She’s been a closet seamstress all her life. She washes her dishes by hand, finding solace in the familiarity of hands submerged in warm, sudsy water. She reads a bit, trying to find books that hold her attention. She spends whole minutes listening to the birds in her backyard trilling over the arrival of spring in rural Kansas. Of course she takes care of him, but he sleeps more and more, and needs less and less of her time. His clock is nearing twelve, the completion of the circle. Waiting. Every day lasts a month.
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She stretches out on the sofa, a pillow at her back, her swollen feet propped up in front of her. 39 weeks pregnant and isolated with her husband in their Chicago condo is not exactly what she had envisioned for this time in her life. She expected to be surrounded by friends and family, sharing laughter and dinner and conversation about the dear little girl about to make her debut. The coronavirus snatched that dream and left her counting sheep on sleepless nights, as her unwieldy pregnant belly defies a comfortable resting position.
Worries circle like hawks around her head, threatening to build a nest. What if she gets the virus; will her baby be safe? The hospital has already excised all visitors from labor and delivery; what if they decide that even husbands might pose too big a risk and bar them as well? Some doctors are now advising absolutely no one but parents be near the newborn for her first few weeks of life. What about the two grandmothers eagerly waiting to come help? Can she and her husband do all this on their own?! Her baby’s journey around life’s clock is about to commence; both hands point toward twelve, as if in a prayer. Waiting. Every day lasts a month.
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The circle of life. Ending and beginning. Oddly similar. Perhaps these two souls will pass in the corridor of heaven.