Insomnia has gripped me again. Dark circles mock me. And my joints ache.
“Go to bed early.” “Nap when they nap.” “Try drinking tea.” “Yoga.” “No television.” “Reading.”
And my personal favorite, “Imagine looking at a completely blank wall. There is nothing but whiteness. When an image begins to form, or you hear something in your head, remove it. This is your wall. You are in charge. Make it completely empty. When nothingness takes over, focus on a small center point on the wall. Allow it to get bigger and bigger until you are standing inside the blackness.”
That blackness, although I have now successfully removed any and all images, contains sounds. Whimpers.
My kids crying. My husband running, his ACU uniform shoooosh, shoooshing as his boots push into the sand, leaving the grinding and gnashing of sandy grains sticking between his teeth.
My blackness has “Will someone kill daddy?” the pop, pop, popping of machine guns, and the sound of a bullet being loaded into a magazine. The oil and svvvvck sound as metal moves on metal, locking the hammer and loading the chamber.
My blackness includes the sound of her curls bouncing while she spins and twirls in ballet, he runs and jumps, kicking the soccer ball. All happening without my husband’s eyes.
Every night, I tell myself, tonight I will sleep. I will lie down, close my eyes, search for the white wall, and wait for the calmness to take me.
Every night, I fail.
I crawl into our bed. The one that smells like us. The one that created our family. That holds family “snugabug” sessions on the weekends. The one that caught my tears while he told me he had to go. Again.
That bed holds his empty pillow. His last impression in this house.
This bed, the one that I cannot run from, and cannot face, contains everything I miss so desperately.
I can’t break free of it and sleep on the couch. I have done it before. But I refuse to do it again. I have lived too long without him. And here, he still has a spot.
While all else moves and changes around me. This–this spot, this pillow, this space that I hold vacant for him; it doesn’t change.
Within that blackness of the night, when I can see no whiteness, no blank wall–when I can drown out no sound, –hear no silence or peace, at least I know he is with me. In the blackness.
