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| the sun rising, reflecting on the river, across the street from our house |
“Snuggle bug, Shay Shay, you awake?” I ask quietly, crouched on my haunches beside him where he sleeps on the floor in our basement. My twenty-six year old son makes a small sound in response. I lean in closer to rub his shoulder and see his face. His eyes are closed and the softness of sleep is settled on him like fairy dust.
I see a comfortable smile settled on his lips.
My second youngest son is smiling in his sleep.
Rubbing his shoulder I speak again, a little louder this time, “It’s 6:45, you gotta get up for work.”
“Rugga bugga, baby boops,” he replies. This is a common reply from him. It most closely translates to, “I heard you.”
There is movement now, he shuffles a little under his weighted blanket, his eyes remain closed and the smile does not fade.
“I’m going to go upstairs and make coffee. See you in a few minutes Shay Riley Bones,” I straighten up carefully, trying to use my muscles purposely and to take advantage of every movement. I like to use life as my exercise room and every movement is an opportunity to stretch, strengthen, or simply care about my body. Also, I don’t want to hurt what I have always called my “old lady knees”. I am pretty much fifty years old now, but these have been my old lady knees since my elementary school track and field days.
“I like coffee,” Shay says as I slowly walk away toward the stairs that will lead up to our kitchen where organic shade grown fair trade coffee beans await to be ground and brewed.
I love these mornings. I love making coffee while beneath me my second youngest son unfolds his giant body, stretches out of his bed on the floor (his preferred place to sleep) and gets ready for a job he feels competent and appreciated in. Meanwhile, above me, my soul mate showers in preparation for a day working at home, sitting focused at a computer that is next to mine, accepting a slightly annoying onslaught of obsessive touches, squeezes, and smooches from me. I love standing in the kitchen, lights off surrounded by shadow, while my gaze easily consumes the sunrise kissing the river outside our front room window and the cats meow for their specially made milk and morning affection. I love this spot where I can be in shadow while watching and feeling the world unfold via its morning routine. The house is big, but each room offers such specialness I don’t mind the size.
The coffee beans have been ground and are steeping in the French Press. I set my adorable cube timer to the perfect four minutes (this timer is one of my favourite gifts given to me by Ian, the soul mate I moved in with only a few years ago) and take myself to the front room to stretch a little. Four minutes of random stretches in front of a window facing the river. Lovely.
The timer beeps, upstairs I hear the shower turn off and imagine my soul mate toweling himself in our en-suite bathroom, I stand straight and smile.
I remember seeing my son smile in his sleep, and I am overcome with a sense of gratitude.
This home, this life, this morning routine that brings me such joy, is a gift.
Another favourite gift given by my soul mate.
A gift given to us.
Invited into his home we – my second youngest son and I – have carved our space in it. The basement is my son’s domain, where there is a kitchen, a bathroom, washer and dryer, a pool table, a bar, a sauna. He is not dwelling in darkness and brooding, though he could if he chose. Some days I’m sure he does. But for the most part, he works, he plays his games and watches his shows, he listens to music and bounces around, smiling easily.
My domain is sort of everywhere. I have a dance room where I can turn the music up, close my eyes, rock out and imagine myself alone in but also at one with the universe. I have roller skates and headphones for summers outside around and around the pool. I can spend hours listening, singing, and skating in circles. There is the car where I take people places and go to the grocery store, where I listen to French radio stations and practice saying and singing the words. But mostly, my domain is beside Ian. My soul mate. I follow him around unnecessarily. This is a big house and there are many rooms, the outside is sizable too and there are many delicious spots to sit and read, think, and write. But mostly I follow him around, often with a coffee in my hand, and mostly he doesn’t mind.
We – my second youngest son and I – love living with Ian.
We miss the ease with which we used to have access to the rest of our family, now that we are here in Quebec and they are still there, mostly in California. We have feelings and challenges that are hard, that hurt, that we must deal with. We work to be our best selves and to discover how we can best pitch in, how we can best take part in creating an environment that includes our influence, insights, and work. We struggle to know how we can be helpful without being underfoot or overstepping.
But we are graced with a man who opens his home and requires very little from us. I do the driving (though I don’t pay for the fuel). My son pays rent (enough to feel good about pitching in while still paying far less than he would elsewhere). We are living in a situation where we play a part and ask for responsibilities yet are asked to do little beyond taking care of ourselves. So though we are human and have human hardships, we are also humans with less hardships.
I sometimes wonder, should we work harder? Worry harder? Are we wrong for finding joy in this easy life gifted to us? Should we be more? Are we missing something and burdening others without knowing? Are we unfairly happy?
Maybe so. Maybe so.
But I will not deny the perk of this place we are in.
My second youngest son smiles in his sleep.
