Quiet

I really did not know what I would expect this morning…

It is not that I really expect anything melodramatic such as finding him asleep in a crib, or a bed next to his sisters. I do not have the terror, or the flair for the dramatic of having him not be there, and suddenly realizing it.

Though, at the same time, it is surreal in the sense that I expect these moments, and the reality of what it is needs nothing more than what reality is to be the stark reality that burns…

He is not there.

He is not here.

We are alone.

My ritual, in awaking before the house stirs, being the one who is the first who rises to begin a new day finds an eerie sound that quietness makes when you listen…..but the cliché does not hold….there is no peace and quiet.

The morning is what it was two years ago.

It is quiet. The clouds hide the moon. All is seemingly well. But, all is quiet.

No wind. No movement. The clouds do not move, and the moon is hidden behind the unmoving fog of clouds. They envelope the light that would burst through….

It promises to be a day filled with grey.

The day is me, the night in between….the twilight….the in between….the promise of a new day is hidden. It cannot begin, but it will…and the clouds will do their best to hold back the promise of this new day. The gray will envelop the crisp, sharp contrast of the sun on what would be an otherwise clear, beautiful morning.

Nothing melodramatic. No stark reality realized….it is what it is, it is what it has been.

My soul is still gray. It is enveloped by a fog that clings and releases….a soul that wants to begin a new day.

It has been two years of gray….the day will begin, it has to….