The Weight of the Little Things

In the middle of the night...

I feel like I'm about to break into song (thank you, Billy Joel!). No, I'm alone? Sorry.

The smoke detector goes off.

It's 2:30 in the morning and I spring awake, ready to scream my person's name to help investigate—and I immediately realize that job is solely on me.

I leap to my feet and check out what is an obvious false alarm.

It stops, and I get back into bed. My person is only partially aware of what just happened. But I'm wide awake, and because I've been in such a state of stress, I shake.

It's not visible to anyone else. It's that deep-in-my-bones feeling. Hours later, I can still feel it. It's like my nervous system is on high alert.

Slumber finds me at some point, only to be woken up again at 4 a.m.

This time, the whole house is up.

The alarm stops, only to blast again a minute later.

What is wrong here?

I can't figure it out.

I grab the tall ladder from my closet with the thought of pulling the smoke detector off the wall. My person tells me I'm crazy and that it wouldn't help with the configuration of it.

I pause.

Frustration fills me.

Maybe it's dust?

I grab the vacuum and try to suck up dust from the nearby vent.

Hello, alarm.

Frustration continues to rise.

I do make it back to bed eventually, full of stress. The dogs are freaked out, and now they're all placed in different rooms from normal, except for old man Luke. He's likely hard of hearing, so this whole episode did little to bother him. Oh I wish I could be like him.

HQ is now with my son, and Dexter, our gentle giant, is in my bed on top of my blanket and refusing to move.

I grab a sweatshirt to cover me to stay warm.

I reposition.

I do it again.

Sleep just won't come.

Just as I'm about to fall asleep, the blasted alarm goes off.

It's 5:30, and it's time for my person to get ready for work.

No rest for the weary, right?

The sweet words come as I'm washing my face.

"I'm sorry you had such a rough night."

It's the acknowledgement I need, but I know my person doesn't understand the depths of my struggle.

Because it wasn't really just a rough night.

It's hard not to have my partner physically able to do... something.

In this case, yes, jump up and help me figure out the damn smoke detector.

Other times, it's simple things.

Sometimes it's as simple as, "Could you please carry your cup of coffee into the office with all your other items?"

These aren't the big caregiving moments. They're the tiny ones. The things you never thought twice about when there were two people physically capable of handling them.

Until suddenly, they're solely on you.

And sometimes it's those little things that carry more weight than you ever expected.

I'm tired.

I'm physically drained.

The new smoke detector arrives on Friday.