The Morning

 

The first thought as she opens her eyes is of him. Actually she has these thoughts through out the night as well since she wakes up multiple times. Her thoughts are always about him, it never stops. There are some mornings she automatically picks up her phone to call him as she did thousand of mornings, then remembers he isn't going to answer. She quickly closes her eyes remembering he is gone, feeling the lump in her throat the tears forming as she lays there wondering why bother getting up. 

Before the day she would be on the phone with him while still in bed for their good morning call. There was nothing better than laying in bed starting her day hearing his voice, she would do anything to hear him say "Good morning Babe" right now. They started every work day this way, he would be on his first run in Brooklyn by then ready to dump and head out East. Because of his job he was up and out by 2 am; she adjusted her schedule so they went to bed together but she would sleep a little bit later in the morning. 

They spent a good amount of time chatting on their morning call, hanging up eventually when it was time for her to get ready. She still wakes up early, usually around 4 am, for her the mornings are brutal, yet she can't sleep any later. Their morning was other people's nighttime, being up so early he fell asleep by 6:30-7:00. She would sit watching him asleep, he looked so peaceful, relaxed and of course handsome. 

She misses hearing him snoring the deafening silence at night is the toughest part. He was very loud when he would snore, really loud. She kidded him about it, he would laugh telling her she was just as loud as him when she snored. 

They would laugh all the time about it, he even took a video of her one night snoring and would randomly play it when they out and about. He loved doing silly things like that. He really loved it when he would take a picture of her catching her with a funny face. He would scroll through his photos laughing turning to her saying "Babe come look at this" and it would be his collection of her funny faces. 

She hates the mornings, she used to love them because whether he was working or home it was their time, the quiet of morning when most are still asleep for hours they had each other all to themselves. They would have their coffee watching the news if they were home or chat on the phone if he was working, no interruptions, life not getting in the way of their sacred time. 

Now she wakes up fighting with herself to get up. Sleep when it comes is the only time her brain shuts off, she doesn't think she doesn't feel she doesn't cry, it's her escape. She gets up slowly, everything she does now is slow. 

She used to get up full of energy, she was raring to go, she was the one who had the get up go, he didn't.  She was always waiting for him to be ready, they laughed about it. He needed to take his time, he would wake up to move to the couch to take a nap. He would have his coffee while watching the news as she patiently sat there waiting. He took more time to get ready then she ever did, he had his routine, she had hers. She has no routine any longer no plan, she is so lost without him.  She doesn't know much of anything anymore, just that she is on auto-pilot. 

Now it takes every bit of energy to get off the couch. She sits there trying not to feel begging her brain to stop thinking to stop feeling. Her brain doesn't cooperate as she goes through feeling the waves of emotions, sadness anxiety anger loneliness.  Her emotions are raw another reason she hates the mornings, feeling all the emotions all at once magnified hundred times in the quiet of morning. 

Every morning laying there she has one thought, just get through today than everything will be ok. He will be here magically one of these morning, all of this a horrid nightmare. She can't believe this this is forever if she even thinks it for a second the anxiety quickly rushes through her body. She has to believe this is a nightmare in order to keep going. When she thinks of the thousand more mornings she has to get through, her stomach becomes nauseous and she can't move. It's the same every morning, the struggle, fighting with herself to move yet being paralyzed to stay on the couch.  

She finally sits up she lights his candle as she kisses his urn saying good morning to him. 

S. M Schultes