I’m always asked, “why do you get up so early?”

It started when Jim was sick.  Like clockwork I knew he would wake at 7:00 and my day would begin.  As I entered the bedroom Jim would be sitting on the edge of the bed staring at nothing.  Sometimes there were tears.  I wondered if in his dreams he was running trails with our dog or pounding his bike up Blackstrap mountain.  Waking brought him back to this horrid reality.  I would gently help him to the bathroom, hanging close while he did his morning routine then helped him walk back to the bedroom.   As he sat on the bed I would hold up a shirt, “this one?”.  The sweater, yes?  No?  The pants.  Together we’d dress him in his chosen outfit, with me assisting him in putting that bent and stiff right arm into the arm holes, lifting and aiming his right leg into the pants, slipping on his socks and tying his shoes.  Now dressed we would head towards the stairs.  I would position myself in front, a stair or two lower, acting as a spotter in  hopes I could catch him should he slip, or miscalculate the next step or lose his tight one-handed grip on the railing, or any number of things that could go horribly wrong with his severely compromised body.  This was just the beginning of the long day ahead of taking care of this man who once was an amazing athlete.

So during those days I would slide out of bed early.  If I got up at 3:00 I had 4 blessed hours to myself.  I’d tiptoe down to the kitchen and make a pot of coffee.  With a steaming cup in hand I’d walk into the living room and open the laptop to check emails and facebook, then I would begin writing my blog.  Jim had a very large and amazing community of friends and business associates who were following these blogs in order to stay in touch with how Jim was doing.  I’d sit there, watching the tequila cocktail of colors fill the horizon as the sun rose over Casco Bay.   The first Crow, of the family of 4 that I fed, would land in the White Pine tree, directly in my vision to inform me it was time for their breakfast.   At 7:00 I could hear the bed creak overhead and knew my quiet time was over.

So, why do I continue to get up so early?  

Because I love the early morning hours.  They ask nothing of me.  There’s a hush that needs to be kept.  A calm that cannot be disrupted.  There’s the ritual of making coffee and a peace that the darkness brings.  In these wee hours just before dawn there is the promise of the coming light.  It seeps into the blackness; the stars blink out and the mountain’s silhouette begins to show.  The trees become woodcut etchings against the changing light in the sky that turns black to pink and then to a hint of blue.  As the sun climbs higher the summit of “my” mountain reflects the light, shimmering in a rosy glow, sometimes fuchsia, changing to gold.  The light travels down the slope of the mountain and spreads into the valley .  Now the morning feels old; it’s time to start the chores of the day.

But early morning, when the night begins to pull away, there are no demands, only silence before beginning another day.

And this is why I get up so early.