While child with fever lays limp and flush, I sponge her head. Her feet I encircle with cloth, plastic, wool…in hopes it will draw the heat.
Small loveseat waits for me. The early hours of the morning press in on my heavy eyelids. He wonders why I sleep.
Frustration, worry, tired mind, tired bones, resign me to lay upon my back. I think about days away; filled with living. The minimum takes so long. No skills to place things, to organize, to plan, to make short work long with a mind that wanders a crooked path. How difficult it feels to take time to care for myself. Guilt climbs higher with every moment spent on self. But this moment I care for someone else.
She sleeps while I look on and wonder what I’ve done wrong, yet he wonders why I sleep.