fantasy

5. Moth Mount (Autumn Woods)

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When Craek returned, and told them what he’d seen, everyone suddenly remembered the bix village massacre in Summer Woods many years ago.

“They were caught by surprise!”

A thriving group of little people of the forest, the bix were an important part of trade between the Summer Woods and outside villages of humans. You could find healing ointments, teas, remedies of all kinds, at a Bix Market. They could enchant acorns to guide you, put a protective leaf in a locket for you. The Bix were hard-working magical people living in harmony with the humans around them. The Summer Woods, always a delight to travel through, had been such a helpful place for humans and animals alike, partially because the Bix were there offering everyone the best that herbs and magic could devise. They enhanced the kingdoms around them.

This is how they were noticed by the Orcs. Everyone had heard a version of the story of the Maebon Massacre, or Bix Slaughter, or some other title. It was the kind of story that made good people think twice about being too kind, too open, too vulnerable. The bix didn’t make swords or weapons. They made medicines and remedies. Sometimes the story was told in a way to suggest, “See what happens when you get known for being nice.”

They were all killed and eaten. They say the orcs put their teas and medicines around what was left of their corpses. As if to say, heal thyself.

It reminded them of the horror that others could do. But it was so unthinkable that it became unthinkable— to think about it too much made people anxious and scared and paranoid. Orcs could turn up anywhere! In some ways, the story just couldn’t settle in a mind that believed that good things happen to good folks. Some variants of the story had to give the Bix some fault—outside of being noticed by Orcs. Others just said it was myth.

Nevertheless, the story drove them now into a frenzy. How do they protect themselves from this passing group of orcs? Why were they here in their woods? What did they want? Would the same fate await them as the bix of Summer Wood?

No.

They wouldn’t believe it.

They would fight and they would be clever and they would survive.

“Protect the Autumn Woods!” is an illustrated story by Jerome Stueart in 33 short flash fiction chapters. The story features D&D-inspired magic-using forest animals, all retired from dazzling adventurous lives, ready for peace and quiet in the midst of a spellbound forest, a woods with a very long autumn. When a mysterious troop of orcs, armed for battle, march into their woods, the heroes will do anything they can to keep the orcs away from their loved ones. Sometimes, though, the wards and tricks won’t work. Sometimes, you have to fight harder just to keep what you have.

This story was at first a response to a prompt list created by Jenn Reese and Deva Fagan for an October Art Challenge in 2021. Anyone who wanted to play along could draw pictures according to the prompts and post them on social media with the #autumnwoods hashtag for 31 days. I drew pictures and posted them. But I added D&D classes, and then a story happened. You can now read all 33 parts of the story, “Protect the Autumn Woods” with the search term, #AutumnWoods, or hear them all narrated to you on Substack as you go through the “Protect the Autumn Woods!” Art Show happening at the Dayton Society of Artists (48 High Street, Dayton, OH) from November 1 — December 15 2024.

A reception and opening happens this Friday, November 1st. “Protect the Autumn Woods!” is adjacent to a larger show of amazing Dayton Artists, “Small, but Mighty.” Come see all of the art, Friday, November 1st, or come back any weekend, Friday 12-5, Saturday 12-5 to experience the art yourself.

4. Beaver Crafters (Autumn Woods)

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Kelsky and Big Slap had been the kind of brothers that didn’t need to say very much to each other, but they seemed to understand and communicate effectively anyway. A gesture, a nod, something anyone else would dismiss, was enough for them to cooperate on opposite sides of a river or stream.

Mama Beaver said they were born with the same mind. They’d laugh at that.

“I have half a mind to argue with you,” Kelsky would tell her.

“And I have the other half,” Big Slap would say. “But arguing with you is harder than Oak. I’m gonna go fell a softer tree.”

When they heard the call from Brother Fenzel, they had the same idea at the same time. Reroute the orcs. It was a simple as that. Everyone liked an easy path. You just got to make all the other paths too much trouble. It was like building a dam and guiding water.

And guiding a river, redirecting a stream, wasn’t that different from redirecting a troop of orcs, was it? They just needed to clear any path they wanted the orcs to take; and fill the rest with barriers, fallen trees, branches, things that wouldn’t look purposefully placed, but naturally fallen.

They needed the woods to be a suggestion of pathways.

Their suggestion.

They did not have time to fell as many trees as they needed. They would have to use what they already had. And what they had were their homes.

Kelsky grabbed both sides of a big sycamore atop his recent den addition and pulled, disturbing several other branches and logs.

“No,” his brother said, slapping the ground with his tail. “You need that.”

His brother smiled, his two teeth bright, “I’ll be getting it back, don’t worry, brother. It’s a temporary thing.”

“Well, we will need more logs than that.” He began dismantling the roof over his kitchen.

His brother huffed loudly, “There is plenty in this den. I overmade it anyway. You just keep your kitchen and we’ll use my den.”

“Won’t be enough, and you know it.” Big Slap kept pulling out logs from his kitchen.

Conversation was over. They both knew the other would not relent or change their mind. They were both right. It would take several well placed logs and branches to block the paths. Fitting that they would use their homes to save their homes.

Without a word, they spent the afternoon, pulling and dragging and scattering their home logs and branches into an effective set of barriers, placing them as if the wind had merely knocked them over and an open path never existed.

Go to Chapter 5

“Protect the Autumn Woods!” is an illustrated story by Jerome Stueart in 33 short flash fiction chapters. The story features D&D-inspired magic-using forest animals who fight to protect their homes. This story was at first a response to a prompt list created by Jenn Reese and Deva Fagan for an October Art Challenge in 2021. You can now read all 33 parts of the story, “Protect the Autumn Woods” with the search term, #AutumnWoods. “Protect the Autumn Woods!” Art Show at the Dayton Society of Artists (48 High Street, Dayton, OH) from November 1 — December 15 2024.

“Protect the Autumn Woods!” is adjacent to a larger show of amazing Dayton Artists, “Small, but Mighty.” Come see all of the art, any weekend, Friday 12-5, Saturday 12-5 to experience the art yourself.

3. Blue Jay Spy (Autumn Woods)

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Craek collected rings. Gold inlay, brass, silver, it didn’t matter. If it shined in the sunlight, and was left out on a balcony, or next to a window, he would be pulled in.  He couldn’t resist those rings.  He had his ring collection stored high in an oak tree.

As a spy for Princess Kaera of Brightsun, Craek had helped stop the War of the Valley before it started by relaying the battle plans of the other two sides, had blabbed on the behaviors of three awful suitors seeking the hand of the Princess, and, less than 5 hours after the royal kidnapping, Craek found Little Prince Nessian.

He was given the highest honor of the King after that, as well as a small treasure of shiny, sparkling rings—but, of course, then the entire Kingdom not only knew of his bravery, but of his spying. 

So, that job was over.     

When he was ready, after training the next group of spies, he took his leave and retired to his nest of rings in the Autumn Woods. 

He was content to bring occasional news of the Outside Word to the group.  More and more, though, he stayed at home, mesmerized by his treasures.

“Promise me, Sir Craek of the BlabBlab, you won’t forget us as you travel from kingdom to kingdom.” 

He could not. Their love was the shiniest thing he’d ever had.

Tonight, though, Craek couldn’t forget the Princess.  Perched over an encampment of orcs, he saw the seven Brightson Ruby Rings around the neck of one of the orc soldiers.

They’d lit a fire, massacred several small rabbits from a local warren.  Now, the soldiers chewed without speaking, pulling the meat away from the spit with their tusks, . 

Continue reading →

2. Weasel Cleric (Autumn Woods)

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Brother Fenzel struggled in this wind to light the candles of the Passive Hours, the hours in the middle of the night when your fate was in the hands of the More Powerful.  The candles were a symbol of light, clarity, even in the darkness.  However, tonight the wind snuck through the branches and stones of the little shrine, making it harder for him to see that clarity, that light.  He had trusted his life to the care of Mundimila the Compassionate.  She protected the wanderer, the castaway, the hidden, the vulnerable, and so he honored her for her help in these vulnerable hours.  He was the attendant and cleric of her forest shrine here in the Autumn Woods.  But in this steady night breeze, even inside the shrine, the candles would not stay lit. His old hands trembled to light them again.

He’d been that kind of wanderer for many years, on lonely paths, mapping the world with his feet, pulled by wanderlust.  But then, one night, he’d heard Her singing and followed the sound.  She led him to the Church of the Starlit Branches, promised him something bigger than just his vagabond traveling.  Folks of the forest gave him food and shelter and friendship.  Many of them were displaced by war—smaller creatures, humans, Silvi, the Reconstructed, the Clodders who were just trying to settle again, anywhere.  He stayed, became a cleric, learned healing magic.  He found he wanted to help people. He served them for years and thought he always would.  But you don’t always get to stay where you want.

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1. Black Cat General (Autumn Woods)

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The Autumn Woods were peaceful.  But that didn’t stop retired General Astrati from his day-long perimeter walks.  Despite the widespread opinion that there was no need for such a constant search for danger and enemies, Astrati did it anyway.  He claimed it was good for his knees.  This allowed everyone to believe that he secretly took the walks to be alone.   But how could a soldier so easily retire after being vigilant most of his life?  You cannot turn it off.  It only made sense to him to offer his best skills to the group:  his watchfulness, his paranoia, his darksight, and his wariness.  Honestly, he was being a realist. Peace has to be protected.  Boundaries must be enforced.  They didn’t understand vigilance.

Astrati, they said, you get to be at peace too.

They’d all served their times, done their duties, been the advisors to Kings, been the mentors to magicians, the wise consultants for quests, the champions—the Generals.

This was years ago. 

Now, they had each moved to the Autumn Woods to have lasting peace in their older years, far from the cities, far from the villages and towns, deep in the safety of a thicket of bushes and trees with old roots that twisted and tangled through the hollows. 

They were entitled to rest, weren’t they? Let the Woods ward the strangers away, let the scary stories spread.  How can we be at peace, when we look for danger? 

Continue reading →

0. The Autumn Woods (Autumn Woods story starts here)

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Welcome to my illustrated story, “Protect the Autumn Woods.” Here you will find all the illustrations and their corresponding short chapters. Most of the chapters are less than a thousand words.

Once you read a chapter, you can click on the link below, or the right arrow to go to the next chapter.

If you are viewing the paintings at the Dayton Society of Artists from November 1-December 15, you can just read along with the paintings on the wall. They should go in order.

Prologue

To outsiders, it seemed like fall came way too early to the Autumn Woods and stayed way too late.  The first trees to turn sang their first notes of autumn in spring. And the last of the trees’ colors stayed till the chill of winter, adding extra red and orange to the snow.  It was unnatural, some would say, for trees to linger through fall so long.  They could be right.  Leaves were almost always red and yellow and orange. Consensus decided the Autumn Woods were under a spell.  

Stories about the Autumn Woods, like the woods themselves, were a bit more colorful and lingered in the imagination longer than most stories. People said they were enchanted.  That their beauty was a lure.  That magicians and sorcerers lived in the woods, dangerous fighters and thieves and those who controlled the dead.

Others wondered if so many powerful people could live together peacefully. They’d quote the “Sole Witch Theory” of woodslore: that any woods purported to be dangerous or enchanted has only one powerful person at its center because, chances are, multiple powerful beings would not get along.

Though theories argued about who lived there, they agreed on one thing: that the paths through the Autumn Woods should only be used in emergencies, and that the magic there might be helpful and benign, but could turn against a nosy traveler. 

Best to leave these woods alone.  
              
In this way, the tales created a buffer between the Autumn Woods and the rest of the valleys, towns, and fortified cities that lay off in all directions.

Go through the Summer Woods if you want with its frequently-used, well-worn paths.

Take any of the paths that skirt around the Autumn Woods.

But unless you wanted to become one of the stories of the Autumn Woods, it would be best just to look, from a distance, at the bright yellow aspens, the boastful red and orange sugar maples, and see all the bursting, jovial trees and bushes as a curtain, holding a mystery from you, for your own good. 
              
Stay where you are now. On the edge of safety.

Go to Chapter 1

“Protect the Autumn Woods!” is an illustrated story by Jerome Stueart in 33 short flash fiction chapters. The story features D&D-inspired magic-using forest animals who fight to protect their homes. This story was at first a response to a prompt list created by Jenn Reese and Deva Fagan for an October Art Challenge in 2021. You can now read all 33 parts of the story, “Protect the Autumn Woods” with the search term, #AutumnWoods. “Protect the Autumn Woods!” Art Show at the Dayton Society of Artists (48 High Street, Dayton, OH) from November 1 — December 15 2024.

“Protect the Autumn Woods!” is adjacent to a larger show of amazing Dayton Artists, “Small, but Mighty.” Come see all of the art, any weekend, Friday 12-5, Saturday 12-5 to experience the art yourself.

PROTECT THE AUTUMN WOODS! The Art Show, November 1-December 15, Dayton Society of Artists

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Excited to announce my art show, “Protect the Autumn Woods!” up at the Dayton Society of Artists (48 High Street, Dayton, OH) from November 1-December 15. The opening reception is today.

It will be adjacent to a larger show, “Small, but Mighty,” featuring smaller (in size) works of Dayton artists. I think the theme works really well with this show, as my characters are also “small, but mighty.”

I have painted fall leaves directly onto the wall, and hung fall leaves (silk) above the paintings, giving you an immersive feeling. QR codes on the labels for each painting will lead you to the story sections here on my website so you can read along if you want. I’m recording a podcast of me reading the whole story on my Substack, (with a QR code leading to it) for people who want to listen to the story in the gallery.

Opening night for the show is November 1, 5-8pm, Dayton Society of Artists, 48 High Street, Dayton, OH.

I will be there all night. Come by and see the show and the larger show, “Small, but Mighty.” I think my heroes pair so well with it! And their works are PHENOMENAL. Nothing larger than 12″ x 12″ —they are beautiful.

Nov 8, 7:30pm, I will have an artist talk.

Later in November, I’m going to arrange a LIVE reading of the story for kids and adults.

Thank you to Jenn Reese and Deva Fagan for creating the prompt list in 2021 for everyone to freely participate and play in the Autumn Woods. I had no idea my playful fun would grow into this. I love the community of artists it created too, and a place for us to share our art and our process and just to play. This was play for me and if I could make every story into play I would be a happy, better writer. Play makes it easier. There was no pressure, and all the support I could hope for.

Thank you, friends, for your encouragement!

(As I mentioned on a previous post, if you have purchased one of these originals, and I’ve not contacted you already, please DM me. I won’t resell your painting. I know which are sold, just not to whom as my 2021 records have been lost. I’ll hold onto it till I know.)

I hope you have a magical week! I hope you do what you’ve been wanting to do! Renew your hope. Set intentions on what you want to go for.

You may sometimes feel small, and we all do, but you are mighty! You are mighty.

November 29:  Friends come over to chat with us in our bedroom

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Someone is a visitor; someone else is visited.

Understanding that Yukon and Bumble’s bedroom is their former living room, you can see why they might also entertain friends and guests there. Anyone with a studio apartment might know what I’m talking about too, as your bedroom is the living room and kitchen too.  But doesn’t this remind you of when you were living with your folks?  When I was a teen, having friends over meant having them in my bedroom. It was the only place with privacy, and it felt too formal to meet “in the parlor” (I never had one of those anyway!) or in the living room. We wanted to be able to talk to each other, laugh, look at my Stuff (comics, art, computer). Okay, technically I had no friends in high school, and no one came over to see me, but YOU all did, right?  My brothers and sister had them—and they all met in their bedrooms.  And from watching TV, I know this is what kids do—they live in their bedrooms with their friends.

Here is a hairy fairy seated comfortably in the garden-gloved hand of Yukon. (As you might remember, there were a few ginger-bearded fairies with red butterfly wings in my fairy paintings from last year). He’s come over to chat.  If you also recall, these fairies are in a special place that doesn’t connect well to the rest of the world, and they were also afraid that they might get lost if they ever left their own protected garden.  But sometimes it takes a brave soul to try— and be the explorer, see what is out there, and then attempt to get back. Sort of a Fairy’s Hero’s Journey!

Who said there were only two stories in the world: someone comes to town, someone leaves town? (I know Cory Doctorow has a novel by that name!) Someone gets a visitor, someone is a visitor. While I may not have had many visitors growing up or later–I have been a visitor many times. Let me tell you how much joy there is in visiting someone at their home. (I miss it. COVID sucks. )

I am so grateful to have been invited into so many homes, so many living rooms, given coffee or water or tea or pop, or food, and had great conversation for hours.  I know the most amazing people! I always felt welcome.  I always felt loved.  I feel very blessed to know good people. I like being able to see people in their “natural habitat.” LOL.  We don’t get to decorate the outside world much–or put in it what we would enjoy–but a home, and a bedroom especially, is very reflective of the individuals who live there.  (I’ve barely tapped what is actually IN Yukon’s and Bumble’s bedroom/living room besides a HUGE bed, some chairs, dresser, and some paintings done by Bumble.  I didn’t see much of Yukon in there…  I need to talk to them about being a bit more even-handed in the way they decorate!)  You can tell a lot about a person by what they have in their living room–and what they have in their bedroom? Are they different things?  Since the bedroom is usually more private–what do we have in there for decor?  As a teen, of course, your bedroom always reflected you–posters of your favorite movies, crushes, heroes, musicians.

What is in your bedroom that reflects you?  (I move so much and live with so many people that lately I have not had a bedroom that reflects me as much..,)  When I had a bedroom, I did have paintings that I made in it. I also had paintings by other people.  I also have a special “chest” of what I think of as sacred pieces— little things that have meant a lot to me over the years that I collected in one place… gifts others have given to me, or little things that remind me of them. I keep them all in a special little chest I picked up in a Tuesday Morning once.  It is made, I think, for a young girl and it has written on it DREAMS, ADVENTURE, with clouds and maps and things in purple and pink and cream—but I liked it! lol.  This chest though, meant that I could make my Room MOBILE. I could always put my “things” in my new room, wherever I was, and make it feel like me for whatever time I was there.

I hope this fairy has a great time visiting Yukon and Bumble and that they can show him how to get back “home” so he doesn’t have to think of visiting others as the consolation for never having a home again.  I would love for him to tell the others that it’s possible–if they want–to leave and come back again.

I hope one day to have a home where people come and visit me, so that I can return the favor of being the guest, the visitor, in so many other places.  I hope to see you all again soon.  I also hope YOU have visitors who come to you and give you joy. I hope you are visitors to others to bring your joy to them.  I hope you entertain and are entertained this holiday season. I hope you know what it is to be the guest, to be the host, and to savor both those opportunities to know other people.  Love generously. Befriend hugely. Spread love and joy.  We need to spread something good this year.

November 28:  Just what kinds of possibilities are we letting into the bedroom?

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Our bedrooms are private vaults–we keep our secrets in here. We only show them to people we trust. We don’t let just anyone in. Safe to be ourselves in our room, we relax knowing we are in a private sanctum. This room is locked tight, we think. Except… that balcony… that window.

“What is happening in this painting, Jerome??”

Why is it that, in movies, supernatural entities all seem to have a key to every balcony door and bedroom window? The strange things enter in through windows of the bedroom–whether it is Dracula at the balcony of Mina’s bedroom, or Frankenstein entering through the balcony to kill Victor’s wife, or George Hamilton’s Dracula in the 70s alighting on Susan St. James’ balcony saying with a sly smile as the breeze pushes the curtains away, “With you, never a quickie. Always a longie.” It is the beating on the bedroom window of the gnarly tree in Poltergeist, the giant vulture who brings a cage every night to the balcony of Andromeda to carry her away to see Calibos in Clash of the Titans, The Snowman coming to take James on a magical flight to the Arctic, Romeo climbing up to see Juliet, Aladdin alighting on Jasmine’s balcony, Salem Lot’s child at the window, Phantom of the Opera, Peter Pan, Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

The bedroom, inaccessible? Every rogue, bandit, and monster knows how to get into an upstairs window! These three moth men have no trouble. Maybe Yukon left it open because it was hot. It makes sense that horror movies capitalize on bedroom windows–the only way into our security from the outside. But erotic and romantic stories also play with balconies–as the passage into the forbidden room, the access to the Lover that bypasses the guards, the parents, the doors. Romantic fantasies quiver on the possibility of love working hard to find us, especially when we’ve failed to find love before. Fantasies use them as launchpads and gateways to the mysterious and wondrous waiting just outside. “I can show you the world…”

Are we frightened or intrigued by these access points? Something has gotten in and sees us–sees the private things we hide! Oh my. Just what kinds of things are we letting in to our bedrooms?

Our thoughts are the real access points–the other window into our rooms, our sleep –and those we can control, sometimes.

***

I’ve had a lot of bad dreams and scary moments in my bedrooms. Being a sensitive, imaginative kid, I experienced my share of nighttime paralysis where I would see things in my room that would frighten me–still frighten me. Heads rising up the wall, children coming in and out of the closet, covers being pulled off by invisible hands. I’ve heard voices in my room fly down from the ceiling and whip past my ear telling me I was not safe. It looked like a fortress, didn’t it? Who let these things in?

However, I’ve also had some good dreams of someone coming to take me on journeys, flights, or back up to the Enterprise to live my new life. I’ve imagined lovers, or werewolves that just need a place to stay until the hunting party leaves the forest, or angels watching over me, or fun dreams of wandering through castles, or dogs that I know from the past finding me. Some of us pray in our bedrooms, allowing a safe protective spirit of God or Spirit to enter and comfort us. We want to have good things in our dreams, our thoughts, our hopes! We want to imagine the positive possibilities. We want to have choices about what gets in–what gets access–who sees us–what gets barred.

***

This was my second painting in the Yukon series, back in art school. The surprise on Yukon’s face! The three moth men coming in through the window to scare him?? to cuddle with him?? I got a lot of kidding by my fellow artists about the magically-supported sheets up against his legs. I swear I just didn’t get the folds right, and now it looks like something else is holding them up. How much fun it was to create this painting!–kind of a taboo for me to break. A giant naked man. My first. I still get asked if this is my body. Why do people want to know? That’s a very private question! I think they want to know because they assume I’m making the private public and that I want public question about what should be unknown. They think they’ve seen something private from my bedroom. They think I’ve given them access to a private fantasy! HAHA, they say! I’ve let them in. Any question is okay now….

Well, mothmen coming in my window, hmm; it is a nicer thought than the fears I used to have about things in my bedroom. I used to be afraid to go to sleep because of recurring nightmares. But I’ve gotten into the habit of thinking of awesome things happening–or reading happier, cozier, fantasy books before bed, or watching something light and fun before I sleep. I fill my room with fantasy and imagination before I sleep. I laugh.

Our dream life and our fantasy life need to crowd out our Fear life. If we have to think about the future in the face of the unknown, let it be warm, inviting, magical and mystical things that mean us no harm. The fantasies (or horrors) we allow into our minds color the way we experience the world–as a place of hope or harm around every corner. They can give us good sleep or no sleep. I choose to believe that there is hope around the corner because I want to open up my window to the fantasies and the magic and be vulnerable to the possibility of joy.

May good thoughts and good fantasies fill your minds and rooms this holiday season!

____________________________

This is part of the “The Bedroom is Our Living Room,” as part of “The Further (Queer) Adventures of Yukon Cornelius” series of paintings I did, reimagining the prospector from the Christmas special as a gay man whose whole life is helping “Hiddens” (or as other people put it, Monsters) as they adapt to life in a world of often fearful humans. My way of talking about queer issues and queer life.

November 30:  We take care of each other in the bedroom

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When I was a sick kid, I would stay in bed and my mom would put a plastic cup of 7-up and a wrapped stack of saltines by my bedside. She would often come in, sit beside me, and take a cool wet cloth and press it to my forehead.  That cool damp cloth absorbed all the heat. That sensation lasted much longer than is physically possible from a wet cloth because her presence was really doing all the absorbing. 

The bedroom can be the place of recovery. Studies show that sleep heals. Getting enough sleep is important to proper brain function, but also helps the body do its work while we are busy dreaming.  But in case of a greater illness, the bedroom is where we gather our strength among all our sacred and familiar objects.  Many of us have spent quite a long time in our bedrooms feeling sick, especially these last few years.  Except, with COVID, it was difficult to be able to tend to each other because it was highly contagious.

During the plague in the Dark Ages, people who tended the sick, or stayed with those who were dying, would catch it and bring it back with them. They didn’t know how it was spread.  Our very acts of compassion and community were being attacked. Still–(though not the plague)–my mom would stay with me through the flu or strep throat or whatever else knocks a kid off his feet. She endangered herself in order to care for me.  I don’t remember if she ever caught the flu from us. I don’t think so. But she didn’t know she wouldn’t.   

No one likes being sick. Some of us don’t like to bother the people near us with our sickness either–we choose to bear it alone so that no one has to be endangered because of us.  Deep down, though, we want someone with us–someone who doesn’t mind us at our worst, or helpless, or dependent.  These are traits that are so strongly hated in America today that we are embarrassed by our need and desire for each other.  But we ache with needing each other too.

I remember every person who stayed with me when I was sick.  I have forgotten a LOT of things… but I remember Dave in the ER when they couldn’t find a good vein and poked me three or four times in each elbow and on both hands and how I cried.  I remember my mother standing beside the dentist when I had three wisdom teeth removed. I remember Doug who sat most of the night with me as I dealt with kidney stones in the ER of Whitehorse Hospital. I remember the first doctor who gave me lots of morphine when I had my first kidney stones. Thank you thank you. I have a skill at making them. (I should sell them!)  My Dean of Student Services followed the ambulance when I had a panic attack (which we thought was a heart attack) in college. He was there when they told me to breathe in a paper bag after all of that drama and fuss. My heart remembered these people staying with me when I was hurt.  

It seems like such a small thing, doesn’t it? To sit with someone. To be with someone.  Not to entertain them, but just to endure with them the space of time that hurts.  That time counts.  It means everything.  Maybe we don’t feel abandoned. Maybe we feel protected. Maybe we feel safe.  But that presence beside us when we sleep binds our injuries, holds our bodies together, so they can heal.  

The bedroom is a place of healing. And caregiving. And love expressed through easing each other’s pain.  We hate when it happens, but it does open up a way to love each other that no other moment offers. It does not embarrass us to see each other dependent or make us hate them.  Instead, it makes us value each other more, and each other’s health more. For a fortnight, we become a sentry, guarding each other, fighting off the illness together, till stealthy health comes sneaking back through the gates again.