My sister called it my alternate universe.  My days had developed a rhythm, a pattern.  It was actually quite comforting in its simplicity.

I slept at the La Quinta.  It met my basic needs.  I got up, ate breakfast, went to the hospital. Sat with Dad. Talked to him.  Watched TV with him. Cut up his food. Helped him go to the bathroom.  I sometimes had time to sneak down to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. Sometimes not.  I went back to the hotel.  Went to bed.  Did it again.

I don’t know how long this lasted.  It was all outside of the dimension of time.  No other people existed in this alternate universe.  It was just me and Dad.  There was no agenda, no friendships, no husband, just us.

It was numbing. I’ve recently come to realize that this alternate universe did not end when dad died.  It has a hold over me.  Re entry has not just been hard, it hasn’t happened. My mind is somewhere else. I need to reclaim the time the locusts took.  I need to make amends.  I need to reconnect.  I need to be present in this world where I live.