Softly the snow falls and I wonder if you’ll make it home tonight. It’s been a long winter and you’ve been gone most of it. The cabin has become my cocoon and I imagine come spring I will emerge changed into something beautiful, although some days I wonder if I will ever emerge at all. In the meantime I have changed my lifestyle to such an enormous degree that its almost impossible to imagine that I was the life of the party just a few short months ago.
I had escaped to this remote place thinking it would provide solace and comfort after I had survived the rigors of the chemo. You had been there at first and then work or the world had started to draw you away. At first it had only been a day here and there, and then a week or more. I can’t quite recall when you were here last. Was it last Tuesday or a week or two before that?
Every morning I get up and make a pot of coffee, shower and then put on my jacket and go out for a little air. Upon returning I drink another cup or two and then read or nap. Supper and then it’s been an early night, earlier and earlier as time has passed. I know I should go to town but the effort seems daunting. I’ve started to eat less and less so the little bit of food that’s here should last another week or two.
I find myself growing too tired to think or do, or even want to and I’ve noticed its been getting colder and colder. I have quite a store of wood but the effort to go and get it has become overwhelming as well. I try to not let it go out but what is in the fireplace now can hardly be called a fire and certainly does nothing to warm the room.
I look out the window, the snow continues to fall and wonder if you will return. I wonder if anyone knows I’m here. I think of another time and place with warm sand and sunny skies and drift off yet again to sleep. My dreams are what sustain me now. As the room gets colder I snuggle deeper under the covers and whisper your name.
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