Telling Time

"Heather."

Maybe if I ignore him, he'll forget whatever it is and I can get some sleep.

"Heather!"

No such luck. Forcing open my eyelids, I note that it's 2:45 AM. Sure, I'm happy to get up. Uh huh. Right away.

"What do you need, Daddy?"

"You."

"What do you need, daddy?"

"What time is it?"

"It's not quite 3AM. Would you like a drink of water?"

He does, as always, and tries to engage me in conversation about how the war's going. I try to convince him it's been over for 65 years. He's not sure he believes me.

"What time is it?"

"It's nearly three. Everybody's sleeping."

I check his oxygen to make sure it's feeding into his nose. Sometimes he removes it. I even find it around his neck blowing into his pillow some nights. Tonight it's fine. As he continues to complain about not knowing what time it is, I pick up his wrist and press the appropriate button on his talking watch.

"The... time... is... 2:54.. A.M."

"Oh, that thing is worthless!"

I'm not in the mood to comment, just get up and leave the room, returning to bed.

....

"I want a clock!"

Rolling over, I wake hearing that, find myself mentally answering, "so who doesn't?" Maybe he's just talking to the people who aren't there again and I'm not needed. This will be my third night (of four, so far) with badly interrupted sleep.

"I want a damn clock! C. L. O. C. K!"

Yeah, and not much anybody's going to do about that at - I again force open eyelids - 3:30 AM. I drag myself down the hall yet again and inform him of that fact as gently as I'm currently capable of under the circumstances. Meaning not very. This is not the night I raise my voice to get through to him that I need him to stop yelling so I can get some sleep because I have to work. That was the previous night. I again address his talking watch, demonstrating it for him. He insists that it's never been helpful. I retort that he's relied on it for years, but now he's an old man and getting forgetful. I wonder aloud that he can't tell by how dark everything is that it's night and everybody is trying to sleep. His response is that his nightlight makes everything so bright that he can't tell whether it's day or night. Fine, I'll remove it. Better? I also tell him that I'm going to unplug my end of the baby monitor so I won't be able to hear him the rest of the night. He will need to stay in bed and rest, try to get more sleep. I promise to get him up in the morning when it's time. By 6:30 I can manage cheerful again.

On my way home from work I stop at the store and look for a clock with large lighted numerals that he might be able to read at night. I find one with 3" characters, and we plug it in at his bedtime. Oh such foolish optimism! He forgets it's there. He can't read the numbers. Basically, he's lonely and just needs the company. He's bumped the control for his bed and his knees are up higher than his head. He wants to be moved to the bed over in the corner. All these women are visiting him....

My going to bed two hours before my usual bedtime just isn't helping, either. I can be dead-on-my-feet tired, but not ready for sleep yet. Thank heaven for weekends. I can sleep during the day when he does. Ready for another rocky night.