Sleeping
This is a short sleep story. An old man’s story. I have figured out how, after waking at three or two, or one, to get back to sleep. I lay down, roll over, say, begone to my ruminating thoughts, think of sleep, and there it comes. Hardly a great self-help manual, but that’s what I’ve got. Somehow, I have managed to find the stopcock that will open and dump everything from my brain except the need for sleep. Maybe it’s my years of training coming into play.
Sleep became an issue during my wife’s illness, and the focus of the first counselor I saw to help me thread my way through those dark days. The counselor insisted that sleep was the key to survival. “You won’t do her any good if you don’t take care of yourself,” were the words of advice. I hadn’t really thought about it. I thought sleepless nights were just the way of things. The advice, upon waking, was to get up, keep the lights low, get a drink, maybe read a book, sit in a chair, and let sleep return. It often did.
After years of practice I suppose, my body now knows the cycle, and has shortened it. Training. I wake, get up, get a drink, maybe stand and look out the window, and it's back to bed and sleep. Sometimes, I merely turn over, and it's done. I guess if you’re going to develop a skill late in life, learning how to sleep all night is a pretty good one. Although, it does seem weird that you have to relearn how to sleep. But I’ll take it, and save the big sleep for later.