The Stranger

Something was up as I swung my legs out of bed on Sunday morning. I looked around, I was not alone in the bedroom - it was quiet, too quiet, it was a metaphysical feeling. I rubbed my eyes and forehead, seemingly unable to fully wake up. I heard footsteps and then the grandson bolted through the door, landing in the middle of the bed before I would say anything. “Hey Pop Pop, it’s time to get up!” He laid on his back, giggling, while putting his feet on my back. “What’s the rush?” I seized the opportunity to lie down on the bed, wrapping my left arm around him and giving a big squeeze. I just wanted to close my eyes a bit longer, but these quiet times with the him are priceless. “Rush?” He whispered unequivocally and looked at me. “It means hurry, like why are we hurrying? We have all day, right?” I tried to explain while feeling a dry tickle in my throat. I felt like coughing but avoided it, and wondered about the room temperature while pushing off covers. “Blake at school said the F word Friday and he got in trouble. Nina helped me with the math assignment and I gave her one of my cookies.” He whispered facts or highlights from his week with his mother as we both lie back on the bed, it was the greatest moment of my week these days. I felt blessed to have these personal moments with him. I didn’t feel the need to confess my love of the F word and constant use of it somedays. “What is wrong with your head?” He sat up and watched me rub my temples. “Nothing really, just a headache, just need some coffee to jumpstart it.” It was a small lie, or I thought so, as my head pounded like a marching band took up residence in my brain. I was not sure if the coffee would help. Besides, this is how all of our Sunday morning talks ended. I could feel its presence with us, the stranger lurking, getting closer and closer to me. I wanted to push the little one away from him. He bounced from the bed, grabbed my hand and I followed, making our way to the kitchen. Oatmeal is his favorite breakfast, so I started the process before grandma (oh yes, she loves being called that) joined before taking over as he loved grandma’s oatmeal. I think her secret was nutmeg, but I wouldn’t swear to it. I shook some Tylenol pills from the bottle, chasing them with water while rummaging though the cabinet for other remedies - the stranger was gaining strength. I lowered my increasingly aching body into a table chair as the little one found a seat directly across. I smiled while examining him, wondering if he had brought the stranger into the house. “You okay?” She sat a mug of coffee in front of me while rubbing my shoulder. “Yeah, why?” I blew and sipped. “It’s just, well, you don’t look good, and you are warm.” She mumbled while the back of her hand rested on my forehead. Thirty years together meant a kind of familiarity that cannot be easily explained. “I am tired, and throat a little dry, but this weather is crazy - 70 one day, 40 the next and then all of the rain.” I motion at nothing specific with my hands. “You should go lie down. We’ll be okay, get some rest.”