I sit nestled in the easy comfort of the darkness of 3:00 AM.  Funny, but I continue to enjoy this time of day.  The darkness is complete. The silence broken only by the occasional muffled woofing from Napa as she relishes in some dream. 

This is when I give myself permission to descend into as many treasured memories of Mary Kay as I crave. 

I easily recall when this was the only time of day I might claim.  Only then could I attack the day’s non-caregiving demands.  Downstairs in my office, which I’d nicknamed The Sanctuary, I’d fire up the computer, pull out the previous day’s mail and bills, click my email, and enter a totally different universe for an hour or so.  I’d do it in silence and hope MK didn’t hear the soft gurgling of my Keurig brewing my ‘illegal’ early cup of coffee.  It was hidden behind a muffling wall of throw pillows.  She always insisted I wait to share my first cup with her.  It was just one of her myriad of requirements we had to mutually complete in her daily routine.  I adhered to each one of those, but alas, I just needed that early caffeine blast too much.  The warmth and soothing aroma would partially overcome my guilt.

These mornings I still relish this same time of day with its shell of darkness.  Granted, I no longer give the ruckus of my coffee maker grinding its beans a thought and I can add the years-long missing murmur of my favorite Moodys or some other musicians to my darkness.  Now, coffee in hand, I still walk in darkened silence to my office and continue to work only by the low light of my small desk lamp.  Some mornings I enhance my feelings by adding the purple glow of my old lava lamp.  Napa understands and just as quietly accompanies me to her new office bed, a comfortable conglomeration crafted by our daughter during the earliest days of the pandemic’s work-from-home days.

Several of my office’s decorations are from my travels.  In my work career and life those trips were incredible highlights and thanks to a treasured colleague I’m sure saved my sanity.  I sigh recalling the terrible difficulty those days also rained upon MK.  Anger wells inside of me at the memories of the too many horrendous, uncaring ‘caregivers’ she suffered.  You know it’s bad when the barista at the local coffee shop calls you in the middle of a meeting to bluntly demand ‘don’t you ever allow this terrible person to be with MK again!’  So many of my memories from our last 14+ years are laced with such distinct bittersweetness.

I can work uninterrupted now, but find my mind wanders off, especially as I gaze at my treasured kitsch crowding The Sanctuary.  Most call my office a mess, but each item on the shelves and walls hold a story.  The few photos are treasured captures.  Each dreamily sends me elsewhere.  I do miss listening for the oft repeated ‘Scott, Scott, Scott’ MK would employ.  I miss that there’s no longer anyone to call me Sid.  Then again it would feel so wrong if anyone else but MK did.  In an odd way I miss the urgency of knowing I might be needed at any moment and I’m certain my productivity has decayed.  Mostly I miss the smile on her face and love in her eyes when, having left The Sanctuary, I’d round the corner into our room and see her hopefully watching for my entry.

My office is now alight with morning.  Time to put my memories away.

But never far away.