Gray Day

In our living room we have a high, half-circle window with no window covering.  It has a decorative window-pane divider that looks like a rising sun with sun rays radiating upward and outward.  The window faces east, so in the morning when the sun is rising and sunlight is flowing full through the "sunrise window" the room is flooded with exceptional light.  Except not today.  Today is a gray day.

Outside the sunrise window the sky is gray, and the tree in the front yard is lifeless and barren.  That tree has been dying by degrees since before we bought this house.  Every year there is a little more terminal die-back in the wood.  This year the tree is full of mistletoe that sprouted last summer.  Mistletoe is a parasite that reminds me a lot of multiple myeloma.

Sue's myeloma is like a parasite, sucking the life out of her. She's weaker by the day.  Yesterday she was shuffling around with Connie's Winnie Walker, but had trouble transitioning from the walker to a chair or a toilet, and then getting back up was a major production. I've installed as many assistive devices as I can -- raised toilet seat, grab bars, shower chair. But today Sue can't even sit up in bed by herself. 

Looking out at the sky through the sunrise window, I see the gray, and I feel it.  I know the sun will shine through that window again, but I'm not sure if the tree is going to make it through another year.