I didn't get anything done today. Nothing visible. I could not even think about being on the computer or studying or reading or writing or social media or texting or skyping ... unless it was to my husband or son.
What I could do was think, sit, ponder. I could be outside. I could cry.
Tim was admitted to the hospital (routine fever watching) a bit after midnight on Saturday. But that isn't why I'm crying - or why I'm physically exhausted to the point that I finally can't push through.
There is nothing I can do except what my soul and my body want me to do, and they are finally insisting.
So I will rest.
It means leaving the rooms in my house. Last evening and today, I had to be outside, in the backyard. I needed the space and the spacious views of the hills. My spirit needed the rest of open spaces and beautiful trees.
Other times, it results in glorious sleep (which can be very elusive after 3 a.m.).
It means crying. I have cried a lot the past two days. That's happened before. It sneaks up on me and I have to stop and let the tears have their say. When the tears release, my eyes rest, the tightness in my chest rests, my shoulders relax, and my heart gets a little lighter.
Then there are the times it means taking a picnic lunch to Stanford and eating in Tim's isolation room. It's a lovely room - he's gotten the same one both times he's been there, and it's the only one with a bird feeder and very persistent bird performances.
Resting can also result in the care-giver in me being determined to fix that bird feeder so that birds can actually eat the seed. This means sneaking out the one-way side door and raising the baffle so the birds can fit under it to reach the seed. Call me the bird whisperer...it's been a very busy place since I used my magic, ;)
Other times it means sitting in my yard, on the grass, helping my beautiful beagle, Cleo, shed her winter coat.
And now it means getting a cookie and a glass of milk, watching a 'Big Bang Theory' rerun, then texting 'goodnight, I love you' to Tim and Evan.
And to all of you.
Good night. I love you.
Tomorrow will be a wonderful day, full of as many surprises as today.
And I will rest into it.