The morning begins like many before, I’ll wake at 5:00 and by 6 I’m showered, fed with a beverage at hand, and at least partially dressed. At 6:00 the phone chimes, the tone IDs the caller as Neta. For weeks we have begun our mornings apart with a call. “Morning baby, how did you sleep? I had the weirdest dream.” And off we go. For the next 40 minutes, chattering away while we get ready for our separate work, together.
Both needing to get going, we wind down, begin our so longs. The calls usually come to an end with Neta saying she’ll e-mail when she gets to work. Not this morning. There won’t be any e-mails, no work and in fact very little, no conversation.
Neta has surgery for a torn tendon in her right knee today. I’ll be out of reach, out of touch, out of my mind for most of the day. Her mom has agreed to be my conduit, to pass me the news, to let me release. It may be just enough.
She will end the call today by telling my not to worry, that all will be well. She’ll remind me to call her mom, that mom is expecting me. I’ll get through the day by sheer force of will, anxiously awaiting word, feverishly craving the sound of her voice.
It may be several days before we are back to some semblance of our routine, with her telling me about a weird dream, chattering away while we get ready for our separate work, together. Until then I suspect I’ll be out of step, out of rhythm, out of my mind.
Wake me in the morning.