The stranger cont.

I know something is amiss as my feet hit the floor Sunday morning. I look around, I am not alone - it is quiet, too quiet. I rub my eyes and forehead, unable to fully wake. I hear footsteps and then the grandson bolts through the door, landing in the middle of the bed before I can say anything. “Hey Pop Pop, it’s time to get up!” He lies back, giggling, his feet on my back. “What’s the rush?” I seize the opportunity to lie back on the bed, wrap my arm around him with a big squeeze. I just want to close my eyes a bit longer, but these quiet times with the little one are priceless. “Rush?” He whispers unequivocally and look at me. “It means hurry, like why are we hurrying? We have all day, right?” I explain while feeling dryness in my throat. I feel a lump as I swallow. I feel like coughing but somehow avoid it. “Blake at school said the F word Friday and he got in trouble. Nina helped me with math and I gave her one of my cookies.” He whispers facts or highlights from his week with his mother, it is the highlight of my week. I feel blessed to have these moments. “What is wrong with your head?” He sits up, watching me rub my temples. “Nothing really, just a headache, and I need some tea to start the day, maybe with some honey.” It was a small lie, or I think so, as my head pounds. I can close my eyes and count my heart rate with the throbbing. I am not sure if the hot tea will help, but it sounds good. Besides, this is how our Sunday morning talks end. I feel its presence with us, the stranger lurking. He bounces from bed, grabs my hand and I follow, making our way to the kitchen. Oatmeal is his favorite breakfast, so I start the process before grandma (oh yes, she loves being called that) joins and takes over. I shake a couple Tylenol from the bottle (in the back of my mind, I remember all the covid posts on the Web saying avoid ibuprofen), chasing them with water while rummaging though the cabinet for other remedies - the stranger taking over. I lower my increasingly achey body into a chair at the table as the little one finds a seat directly across from me. I smile while examining him, wondering if he had brought the stranger into the house. “You okay?” She sits a cup of tea in front of me while rubbing my shoulders. I mumble something incoherent while shaking my head yes. As I sip the tea (it does feel good on my throat), I wonder if I should isolate - it begins with a sore throat, right? “You don’t look good.” She leans on the kitchen island while eyeing me suspiciously. Thirty years together means 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.” "Pop pop, is Godzilla bigger than King Kong?" The smile flashes in my direction from the other end of the table as he scoops up oatmeal. "Of course, he is the King of the monsters." This is not the first time I have been asked this, I know the answer because he is obsessed with Godzilla. I carry my cup and slowly return to bed. [The new part] The stranger completely consumes me over the next few days. The aches in addition to the throbbing headache explode across my body with fever alternating extreme cold with tropical heat. The covers piled on me and then on the floor and then back again. The only interesting aspect of the ordeal was the dreams - at one point I am walking the dark subway tunnels of New York and playing with rats while a stranger chases us, and then the rats chase me. It was a few days before the fever “broke” and the cough appears. The sleep was something to behold since I am a well-known insomniac. How could anybody sleep so much, but then my body reminded me of the how and why. I push forward with the commitments of my day job, but all of the coughing in zoom meetings was too much. Also, the few times I turned on my camera during calls is met with gasps and genuine sympathy and pleas to go rest and return another day. Eventually, I relent and retreat to bed and long stretches of sleep. At this point, everything comes to a screeching halt with not much fuss. The time leading up to my illness is a time of mounting tensions at home. Like a cliche, we had grown apart, each doing our own thing. “When do you think the stranger will be done with me?” I mumbled this to myself one night riding the wave of a fever. "What did you say?" She appeared at the door, wondering about the chatter. "It was nothing." I did not have the energy to explain. The many days of care somehow reconnected us - providing ample opportunity to demonstrate and accept love. "How is my patient today?" She would push open the door, mask firmly in place and disinfectant spray in one hand. At first, the precautions angered me, but I did not wish to make anybody else sick. In the midst of the covid pandemic, who really knows what to do? "I am good." I always say this even when laying on the floor covered with sweat. She caresses my forehead with a wet rag when the fever persists. She brings me food and drink followed by long talks once I turn the corner and the stranger walks away. These are talks we would never have if permitted to work and follow the routine. There was lots of talk of the many adventures, the sparks return - it is surprising to be reminded of why you are with someone. I shrug off the reminder of how many times I had mumbled the words “I don’t need you” while realizing that was far from true.