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The House Is Quiet

I am sick.

It changes the routine of everyone.

Grandboys upstairs with games, husband rests on the sofa, grandgirl naps in a bedroom, me quiet in a recliner, dogs snooze on the floor.

Nothing is normal.

Any celebration for my husband’s birthday is postponed. And Father’s Day is coming. This is Saturday and no mowing sounds. Plain weird. All witty remarks and jokes, on hold and waiting.

Just how it is. Family, meeting the needs of the sick one, the one feeling broken.

I am as empty as a jar waiting to be filled. I have little to offer when I have the Crud, which involves throat and sinuses. Never will the doctor diagnose it as the Crud, but that’s what we call it.

Energy, low and slow. My light is dim but there. Happily, I have a poem for you:

An Offering of Peace

My country is breaking.

As worrisome as floodwaters.

Like unknowns, it can rob me

of my peace.

I work hard to see the harmony

nestling here and there:

the musical snoring of the dog

next to me on the floor;

my husband’s remembering

to kiss me goodnight,

better than a cradlesong.

It is nothing, it is everything!

May this little poem become

a haven for someone out there,

someone who bears a heavy weight.

I lie still and wait for sleep.

The soft light from the dining room,

still burning. Another offering.

Tonight, I’m leaving the light on.

from Women, Resilient Women, 2018

by Pat Durmon

Available on

Stay in the light. My best to each of you,

Pat Durmon

P. S. – Comments and Shares, always invited.

Photo of light shining through the darkness taken by Zach Jimerson, June 2018.

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