September 2012

The steam rose slowly from my mug.  It was my favorite mug. On one side was a sketch of a jeep, the other side was the quote "Do what you love, love what you do.  Life is good."  I leaned into the mug and deeply breathed in the sweet moist steam.  Chocolate hazelnut --  a flavor most snuffed their nose at.  To me, it was the sweetness of cocoa in the smooth soft texture of a black tea.  Decaffeinated, it was what I thought I needed to get me through the next hour or two of scientific readings, but would still allow me to sleep soundly through the encroaching night.

It was well past dark out.  Fireflies that endlessly glowed were absent from my front yard and stars were no where to be found.  I could hear thunder, almost inaudibly, masked by the gentle rain that had begun earlier in the evening, before darkness took over.  It was a good night to read.  I was comfortably compressed in my desk chair, complete with soft sweats and a baggy hoodie.  In my heavily AC-ed house, the combination of lounge clothes and a hot beverage brought a certain relaxation to my mind, despite the heavy reading I was pressing through and trying to understand.

Despite the comforts I found in my house, I was distracted.  My sister had recently called and informed me of the dismal update on our grandmother.  Found on the floor, not breathing, she had suffered a stroke, so doctors thought at least, and was considered cautiously stable.  Our mother was already in Vermont, flying on a one way ticket, not knowing when she'd be home. I added more milk to my tea and took a long but slow sip.  I let the steam slide up onto my face, embracing the warmth and comfort it provided that my house lacked.

At the edge of my desk was a mostly empty bottle of Jim Beam.  The light brown clear liquid stared at me, taunting me, but the mug I was holding brought a warmth to my hands and soul that that bottle never could.  It was becoming an uncanny trend that I did my best research with a glass of stag in hand, like any good biologist I suppose, but tonight was an unusual night, for a number of reasons I didn't want to think about.

The update on my grandmother was certainly one reason.  Her health had been deteriorating through the last year, but bad news still always came as a surprise.  We all knew she had reached a point where she was incapable of getting better.  The only options from here were for her health to stay stable, or to simply get worse.  Though the stroke was bad news, this wasn't what was distracting me from my evening.

The news of my grandmother had brought about a sense of loneliness.  It was the first time I had thought about that embrace on the couch in Alaska, not out of force or habit, but out of longing.  I didn't long for that exact moment though.  That moment I knew was gone and he was gone with it.  I longed instead for a similar replication, only here, in my present location.  An arm that would hold me tight, teasing to not let go.  One that didn't disappear the next morning.

I took another sip, a short one, but as I swallowed the sweet beverage, I continued to hold the mug close to my face, letting the steam rise up onto my skin once again.  The rain continued to trickle off my window, steadily.  My body ached.  I was physically and mentally exhausted.  I had been training, vigorously pushing my body to unknown limits daily, on top of trying to keep up with classes and my research.  It was all taking its toll, and my sleep habitats, or lack there of, were reflecting it.

A loud clash of nearby thunder startled me.  Wind gusted against my window as the lights in my bedroom flickered.  I lit a candle, one that smelled of apple spice, then sipped my tea again.  Besides the approaching storm, my evening was calm and my mind was apathetic.  My grandmother, my tea.... him.  I let the storm outside enter my soul.  My evening, as peaceful as it was, was restless.  They were all restless.