January . . .
On New Years Eve I heard the local fireworks that cracked and thumped in our neighborhood, and continued into the early hours of 2021. It's not that I denied anyone their celebration; I just prefer to sleep when I can and wake up in a New Year feeling fine. No Auld Lang Syne and no crack, snapple, pop.. I always sigh jealousy at the husband's breathing while his C-pap machine whirs quietly. In addition to being able to fall asleep almost immediately, he has the blessing of maintaining a refreshing slumber. Undisturbed. So, that's kind of where we were once more just two weeks into the New Year. I told him to sleep and I would maintain my watch, waiting for updates from our son in law on the life of our middle daughter. Rest had been unattainable for the last 30 hours and I insisted that my husband go to bed because one of us needed to have some semblance of sanity and control. It certainly wasn't going to be me. Our son-in-law had been frantic and sleepless and w