I like to wake up early, but not early-early. I like to get out of bed when the rest of the house is still asleep, at an hour when the whoosh of a car up the street is noteworthy, but also when neither of those states will hold for long. It’s the best time of day to write and also to read, when my brain has the liquid quality of the newly-awake. It is especially excellent if I’ve planned ahead, if I’ve ground the coffee beans the night before, filled up the kettle, and set out a pair of sweats. I don’t manage it often, but when I do, the high of it lasts all day. Yesterday I did it, and Ash remarked that I was very “chirpy and chatty” — a good thing, they quickly added. Waking up early is not so good, though, if I didn’t intend to be awake — when there’s a baby to feed, for instance, or a sick child to care for, or the electronic lady-voice of the smoke detector in the hall suddenly announces
I’m commenting from my wife’s hospital room, where she is recovering from a major and much wanted and needed surgery. I was clearing out my email inbox, as one does while spending time next to an oft-snoozing loved one in the hospital, and discovered I’d missed this missive - what a gift to come across it today!
My wife is normally the type who prefers to be very much left alone when ailing, but for whatever reason this time around she’s wanted me close at hand. So I have spent three rather unexpected nights on a fold-out hospital sofa, eating somewhat rubbery eggs and watching television shows about New Zealand customs agents and brushing my teeth in the harsh glow of the hospital bathroom. It has been a very comfortable stay, with wonderful staff and a nice view out the window, and yet I am still wrung out. And also so grateful to have been here. Your writing so captures this liminal moment so many of us experience. It is very true.
My wife has been doing slow ambling loops in the hallway, preparing for her discharge to an extended stay hotel nearby. In one room there is an older woman alone, always alone, door always open. Whenever my wife passes she yells out, “Great job! You’re looking great! Keep going!” Today we stopped briefly to speak with her. She said, “I don’t know if I’ll ever get out of this bed! You have to walk for me!” And my wife said, yes, yes. I’ll walk for you. Hospitals offer moments of shared humanity and grace that bring me to my knees.
Thank you for sharing this. And thanks to the universe for bringing it to me today.
I used to love waking up early and sitting quietly for an hour or so but for now I'm waiting for the day when I'm not woken up before I'm ready to be up, I know I'll be shocked when the day comes.
I wake early every weekday, and it’s somewhere between early early and early - 5am, followed by my son at 6, my husband at about 6:15, and my daughter last of all. I’ve done this off and on over the (parenting) years and consistently the last two. My work life is give-give-give and I really need this time of giving only to myself. I make coffee, sit, usually read. When I occasionally wake before my alarm this time is even more magical, but so far I tell myself that intentionally waking before 5 is foolish. Will be interesting to see how this all evolves in the coming years.
I’m sending warm thoughts across the country on this anniversary of your dad’s death.
I absolutely loved those early morning hours when I was the only one up. Truly a magical time. Hard to come by these days, though…I like to daydream about the time they’ll come back to me! Hugs to you on the anniversary of Burg’s passing. See you later… ❤️
Beautiful. Thank you for your words and for posting. I think Maggie O’Farrell has a particular understanding of the thin line between life and death. And of the importance of bearing witness. As do you. Reading her full body of work adds depth and nuance. I am in awe of her skill. Grateful for her craft. And yours.
My grandmother passed yesterday - December 6. I found myself waking up early today - December 7 - so I could have a moment alone to grieve and reflect before my family got up.
I got up 30 minutes earlier this morning, also not early early but early enough that I thought I’d avoid interlopers. My daughter came downstairs sensing my pen hitting paper 💀😅. I love your observation on heightened senses at that time of day. Noticing things and details that are usually drowned out by all the noise of living. This is also such a serendipitous post since some of us from your last LACP workshop decided to create an early morning writing accountability text thread! We just started discussing today. Love thinking of all of us writing early up and down the west coast ❤️
Dec 8, 2022·edited Dec 8, 2022Liked by Molly Wizenberg
I'm surprised you were allowed to stay overnight; we haven't had overnight visitors at Harborview since 3/7/2020, and of course there was such a long time when no visitors were allowed at all, and in addition to so many other changes duties, we nurses suddenly found ourselves doing tech support for families who wanted to zoom with their patients. A low point was holding up a heavy ipad while several family members shouted irritably at their loved one to wake up. He was what we call obtunded. Eyes open, but really what you think of as being in a coma.
Now we allow one person at a time between 9 am and 8 pm, two people total per day.
I’m commenting from my wife’s hospital room, where she is recovering from a major and much wanted and needed surgery. I was clearing out my email inbox, as one does while spending time next to an oft-snoozing loved one in the hospital, and discovered I’d missed this missive - what a gift to come across it today!
My wife is normally the type who prefers to be very much left alone when ailing, but for whatever reason this time around she’s wanted me close at hand. So I have spent three rather unexpected nights on a fold-out hospital sofa, eating somewhat rubbery eggs and watching television shows about New Zealand customs agents and brushing my teeth in the harsh glow of the hospital bathroom. It has been a very comfortable stay, with wonderful staff and a nice view out the window, and yet I am still wrung out. And also so grateful to have been here. Your writing so captures this liminal moment so many of us experience. It is very true.
My wife has been doing slow ambling loops in the hallway, preparing for her discharge to an extended stay hotel nearby. In one room there is an older woman alone, always alone, door always open. Whenever my wife passes she yells out, “Great job! You’re looking great! Keep going!” Today we stopped briefly to speak with her. She said, “I don’t know if I’ll ever get out of this bed! You have to walk for me!” And my wife said, yes, yes. I’ll walk for you. Hospitals offer moments of shared humanity and grace that bring me to my knees.
Thank you for sharing this. And thanks to the universe for bringing it to me today.
Twenty years is a long time--and no time at all. My dad has been gone for 23. ♥️
I used to love waking up early and sitting quietly for an hour or so but for now I'm waiting for the day when I'm not woken up before I'm ready to be up, I know I'll be shocked when the day comes.
I wake early every weekday, and it’s somewhere between early early and early - 5am, followed by my son at 6, my husband at about 6:15, and my daughter last of all. I’ve done this off and on over the (parenting) years and consistently the last two. My work life is give-give-give and I really need this time of giving only to myself. I make coffee, sit, usually read. When I occasionally wake before my alarm this time is even more magical, but so far I tell myself that intentionally waking before 5 is foolish. Will be interesting to see how this all evolves in the coming years.
I’m sending warm thoughts across the country on this anniversary of your dad’s death.
I absolutely loved those early morning hours when I was the only one up. Truly a magical time. Hard to come by these days, though…I like to daydream about the time they’ll come back to me! Hugs to you on the anniversary of Burg’s passing. See you later… ❤️
Beautiful. Thank you for your words and for posting. I think Maggie O’Farrell has a particular understanding of the thin line between life and death. And of the importance of bearing witness. As do you. Reading her full body of work adds depth and nuance. I am in awe of her skill. Grateful for her craft. And yours.
My grandmother passed yesterday - December 6. I found myself waking up early today - December 7 - so I could have a moment alone to grieve and reflect before my family got up.
Holding you close in my heart.
“I’m glad I woke up in time to feel it.” ❤️❤️❤️
Molly, sunken in heart wow. Thank you
I got up 30 minutes earlier this morning, also not early early but early enough that I thought I’d avoid interlopers. My daughter came downstairs sensing my pen hitting paper 💀😅. I love your observation on heightened senses at that time of day. Noticing things and details that are usually drowned out by all the noise of living. This is also such a serendipitous post since some of us from your last LACP workshop decided to create an early morning writing accountability text thread! We just started discussing today. Love thinking of all of us writing early up and down the west coast ❤️
I'm surprised you were allowed to stay overnight; we haven't had overnight visitors at Harborview since 3/7/2020, and of course there was such a long time when no visitors were allowed at all, and in addition to so many other changes duties, we nurses suddenly found ourselves doing tech support for families who wanted to zoom with their patients. A low point was holding up a heavy ipad while several family members shouted irritably at their loved one to wake up. He was what we call obtunded. Eyes open, but really what you think of as being in a coma.
Now we allow one person at a time between 9 am and 8 pm, two people total per day.