Sunday Mornings

It’s the beginning of the week for some, the ending of the week for me. Sunday mornings are the last bit of time I have and that I give myself before getting ready for the upcoming days and week. It’s my re-charge time. I used to love this quiet respite I had alone with my boys, including Fritz the cat. We used to sit in my room, all of us on my bed. Normally, I’m a, get up and shower first thing out of bed kind of person. Not so on Sunday mornings. It was the one day a week I would stay in my pajamas. Usually I would be doing something on the computer, always something on the computer, the animals would lounge around with me. Never the TV or radio on, I preferred the silence of these mornings with just a cup of coffee and the sun beaming through a window, the rain hitting the windows, the snow gently falling, the gray enveloping the house and us. There is something so peaceful about this time for me. It was my me time. No matter where I was, no matter where I lived, I always gave myself Sunday mornings. They never became so important as they did once I moved back in with Mom and Dad. I went from living on my own, to being surrounded by people the moment I woke up or walked in the door, after being away. I had no alone time, except for these mornings.        
Since Dad’s stroke, my weekly havens are slightly different now, as is everything else really. I do still get up early, the boys and I still have our quiet time together. I still reflect on the week past and what I have to look forward to during the upcoming week. The only difference now is I focus on getting ready to go see Dad and where he is for the moment. I put together things to bring him, show him, talk to him about. Things are so different, even though they’re similar. There is so much to learn, so much to do. Everything is a re-training of what was once familiar. Everything is a re-learning of what was once familiar. The focus has shifted off of me and onto Dad. Now I focus on coming up with an ever changing routine, a million and one questions running around in my head. Will it get easier when he returns? By the very nature of him returning home things will get easier, but it will forever be changing and besides, easier is subjective. What is easy anyway? As long as I have my Sunday mornings, well, there isn’t anything that can’t be done.