I peek through the doorway and see her on the bed, covered with a white cotton blanket. She lies still, curled up in the fetal position.
I touch her shoulder. “Are you awake?” Soft breathing is the reply.
Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, I lean over and gently stroke her back. Her curly salt and pepper hair peeks out above the warm blanket. She sleeps deeply – in the late morning.
Late morning? What would my mother say about that?
It just seems like just the other day that Mum was trying to get me up for school.
“Denise, it’s time to get up.”
Ten minutes later she’d climb the stairs again.
“Denise, now! You’re going to be late for school!”
At least that’s the story she told me. You see, I never heard her. But when I ran down the stairs clothing askew, dropping books in my wake, with only two minutes to get ready, demanding to know why she hadn’t woken me up… Well, that’s the story she told me, every time!
Mum is a morning person. “Early to bed. Early to rise.” I look at the bed. Well, at least she was.
Let’s journey together.
© 2011 Denise Budd Rumble