A Caregiver's Cold

This morning I woke up with a cold. There were no warning signs, no symptoms that came on slowly. I simply woke up with a cold. Weird.

I called Romeo to talk with him, to tell him that I wouldn't be coming to see him until the cold is gone. I don't want to pass along the germs to him or anyone else at the nursing home.

Romeo understood, of course. But his next words melted me completely: "Oh, my Beloved, I want to come home and hold you and take care of you." Oh, yes, I would like that more than anything right now. Me, who doesn't like to be held or touched when I'm sick, would love it more than anything if Romeo were here to take care of me.

When I'm sick, I prefer to curl up in a ball under the covers all alone. Let me be. But for Romeo, I would let him hold me. For Romeo, I would let him fuss over me, tuck me in, kiss me on the forehead, bring me cough medicine and hot tea, read out loud to me, do reiki on me, bring me vitamins and tinctures, and sing lullabies to me. For Romeo, I would let him hold my hand, massage my aching muscles, and tell me fairy tales. For Romeo, I would fall asleep in his arms.

But Romeo can't be here. So I will do what I've always done when I'm sick. I lie on the couch with tissues and hot tea within reach, a favorite blankie tucked all around me, and pop in a movie. This time, though, I fall asleep and dream of Romeo as the Marx Brothers play in the background.