I sit up, pull my legs over the side of the bed and feel the frosty October air. It is
quiet and still, the spring fragrance of
gardenias and eucalyptus drifting in the open window. He comes into the room silently, hands me a cup of
coffee with a smile, his hair rumpled and standing up at the back.
The warm
roasted smell melts into the serenity of the morning. I wrap my cardigan
around me and pull the blanket over Matilda, who is still stretched
out and snoring softly in her unicorn pajamas, cuddling Rabbit. Breathing it
in, along with the light birdsong from outside, I am transported.
I can smell her before I see her, light perfume and two perfect machine cappuccinos from the machine downstairs.
The room is dark and cool, I sit up and put my legs over the side, pull on a
hoodie as she pulls back the curtain to Bed 1, my place of slumber, this time
around.
Hey! You awake? Good.
You ready? Her New Yorker voice is soft and scratchy and her long
dark hair swirls around her shoulders. She hands me the coffee, pulls
her electronic cigarette replacement out of her pocket with beautifully
manicured hands and takes a few puffs.
Morning! Thank you! I wrap my hands around the cup and enjoy its fragrance, taking two
languid sips. The room is still dim and almost silent although I can hear the
new lady stirring, and near Bed 3 someone is moving clothes around.
The window
has been opened and locked in place, the morning birdsong faintly audible through
the 10cm crack. We kneel down and she reads.
On Awakening. Let us
think about the 24 hours ahead. We ask God to direct our thinking….
I read the daily reflection. We finish with a serenity
prayer and sit in silence. These moments are the most peace I have had
in years, from the cacophony inside and the chaos (or my own making) on the outside. As
the day progresses, when I sit in groups, call home, check in, I start to
feel that these peaceful moments are an indulgence, I have a life and
responsibilities and I have skived off from all of them, while I dwell in this
hospital trying to get a few days up, trying to get well. Or perhaps that is not the case, perhaps
these silences are the very medication I have come for, the medication I will
need to take with me and administer on the outside world, to keep the line of
communication with God open, so I don’t go back to where I was. I wonder what
Matilda is doing, if she is dreaming at this exact moment.
Right. That was great.
How you doing? Want another coffee outside? Im gonna have another one before I
shower. Let me go get my sunnies. They’re doing shift handover and it looks
like Jackie is getting told off for something.
I nod and stretch. Rustling from bed 3 intensifies, some drawers are slammed
shut and I hear clothes being thrown on the floor.
Morning ladies! Anyone
got any washing they want to chuck in with mine?
Many moons later I stretch my arms in the air and make
stretching noises. I reach out for his hand and pull him down beside me on the
side of the bed. We drink out coffees in peaceful silence and I lean against
him, put my face in his shoulder and scruff up his hair.
This is my favourite
time of day I say, or maybe I just think it, but I can tell from the way he
leans back into me and smiles, pulls my hand out of his hair and holds it, that
he understands. Maybe we sit there for seconds or minutes.
Parkers clothes catch my eye from the corner of the room,
covered in last nights’ spaghetti.
Do you have any
laundry from yesterday? I’ll put a load on while you jump in the shower.