Now I lay me down to (hopefully) sleep…
Sometimes I lay in bed at night and I’ve completely forgotten how to fall asleep. I get why you have to teach babies how to self-soothe so they can figure out how to go to sleep on their own. But what if you’re a 30 (or so) something and you’ve completely forgotten how?
I’m a counter. I’ve always been. Not sheep, but just counting. Sometimes I start at one and sometimes I start anywhere and just start going. I’ve just recently started having to go back to that when I can’t figure out how to sleep. I’ve also been known to put my head at the other end of the bed to help me fall asleep.
Sometimes I start thinking about my favorite line from Kenny Rogers, “the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep.” but that certainly doesn’t make it any easier to fall asleep. Because what if that’s it. What if tonight’s the night?
My grandpa died in his sleep. It was over Memorial Day weekend and we’d had dinner Thursday night. I spoke to him on the phone Friday. He went shopping with a lady friend Saturday, and Sunday night my dad called us because he hadn’t been able to get ahold of him for their weekly phone call. My mom got the key and the neighbor and went over and he was dead, had been gone all day and no one knew.
Just a side note: my dad was a creature of habit. When he moved away, he made plans to call my grandpa weekly. He called every Sunday night at 9 pm. When he moved to Arizona he made that same arrangement with me. It always felt forced. When I told him I was getting divorced he told me he was adding a day to my weekly phone call, making it bi-weekly. I like to talk when I have something to say, not on an arranged, forced, call. I’d like to just be able to pick up the phone and call you at any time. Moonshine likes to be forewarned with a text that a phone call is coming, and I guess that’s good so you can make sure the other person is available, but I’m available to my kids every minute of every day if they need me and they can call anytime. Unless I’ve died in my sleep.
I’m sure it was awful for my mom to have to go in there and see that. And our poor neighbor. That’s the problem with being single, I worry all the time about what I’m going to do when my pets die. Poor Angel died on Thanksgiving morning and I had to ask the swooper to come over and take care of her. I’m ill-equipped for pet crises even though I have so many pets.
But let me tell you the worst part of my grandpa dying except for the fact that he died. This girl who rode my bus lived next door to him. Her name could have been Joanne Wintersome, what a piece of work. She liked to fight with me about how the tree in my grandpa’s front yard was hers. We could have actually been good friends had her family not been so white trash. So when I went back to school after the funeral and everything, she announced on the bus that she saw him through his window just laying in bed all day Sunday and she thought it was weird. Da fuh’? Why would she bring up something like that? Well, it’s because she was a no class piece of trash.
And with that, sweet dreams.