Meds – A Day Off

needs: A day off.

I didn’t mean to give her a day off meds. I didn’t know I had. A stumble here, a difficulty with a hot chocolate there and I twigged. “Did we forget your meds?” It was “we” because they only get forgotten when there is two of us. As if the safe landing of having my beloved around allowed me to drop my guard. As we are both busy relying on each other to remember her meds, they fall through the trap door between us. I might have even said: “did you forget your meds?” as if that shared blame could dilute my guilt. It’s not on her to remember, anything. We have a report somewhere that says so.

We live a long way away from the things we do. It’s more regional than remote, but it feels very remote when you can’t go home for meds. We all sucked in our worry and silently missed the meds- but would we really miss the meds? That thought popped in and out, quickly.

Either way I made an adjustment, held her close, invisibly tethered. In doing so I cast his line further out into the world. He has the sure footing of a kid who doesn’t need meds. Under my skin, the current rippled, my inner “guard” stood invisibly tall. Outwardly, I shunned helicopter city. I raised my sail to navigate the day, a step toward safety, a step away from danger, one eye on the horizon for a storm, with the other on the deep blue, setting a course for fun. She doesn’t see the storm, doesn’t feel the safety net spun from fine thread, as clear as water. Tomorrow when she has her meds, the net won’t be there and today I want her brave.

As the day passes, there are falls; we are quick to force a laugh and a give it a rub. There are pauses where she doesn’t quite know what comes next, the fork or the food near it, but she will get there, we can take time. I am wavering, borderline panic as she takes so so long in the toilet, possibly gazing at the paper dispenser she knew so well yesterday, but now for this 30 seconds, 400 seconds 10 minutes looks as indecipherable as Manga is for Grandma.

But what I didn’t expect, was a lightness in her, a happiness, a laughter, an awe and wonder that just popped up. A spot of happy, curiosity and a trickster emerge. I held her close as we watched tv that night and while the characters didn’t repulse her as they normally do, and the funnies were caught by her without a cringe I did ponder on whether the meds were taking the magic away. (Oh.. calm down, I’m not going to go there)

And then my breath sharply sucks inward. Remembering my turned head, when her hand slipped from mine and she stepped into traffic. There was a honk she didn’t hear and a scream from me that pierced the clouds above. Yes. I knew we needed the meds for that second, for that danger. But shit it was awesome to see her smile lightly, brightly that day.