I must resist the gusts and stand tall, my roots are strong.
I am wide awake in the early hours of a cold and windy Saturday morning. My already fragmented slumber, pierced by the sound of my mobile phone announcing a text. A constant companion, my phone is usually in my pocket all day, in case some foul event descends upon one of my beloved. I don’t know how my mum coped without this constant reassurance that if one of her children or husband were involved in something dreadful, she would know one nanosecond later.
During the day at work, when my phone is in my pocket, I rarely hear the requests, hi and where are you , yet when it is on the kitchen bench or as it was tonight under a pillow on the sofa, meters away from my body, its boingy happy sound fills the whole house. Tonight it made me jump out of bed and stumble along the hall, arms outstretched like one of the zombie dead. I read the message through blinking, bloodshot eyes, my son, is on another continent, but is happy and doing well. Yay, I run back and tell my husband who has the enviable knack of listening, making the right reply, rolling over and resuming his sleep within, I would say less than a minute.