Slumber

I don't know one person who hasn't had a difficult, sleep-deprived night at some point. What's troublesome, is when it gets to be a string of them.

The Friday before Easter, I slept nearly seven hours straight. In the last year and a half, I was lucky to get three hours in a row, five in a night.

I'm going to share the context for my sleep issues — not to illicit sympathy —but to explain why this night of sleep was such a great, small win.

In the spring of 2014, my husband, Paul, passed from a heart attack in his sleep. I was 49. We had been together for over 30 years, married just shy of 29. At that point, my dog, Pokey, kept me grounded. Taking care of her gave me meaning and something positive in my life. I took her for walks every day, and she gave me comfort in return. That very week, she started having seizures. I stayed by her side and stroked her, speaking soothingly all night long. Her vet was out of town, so in the morning, I drove her to a nearby town. The help they gave her was temporary, so after three days of torture, I made the decision to let her go.

Already sleep deprived, now things were looking bleak. I muddled through as best I could. After speaking with my Physician's Assistant, I was given a low-dose prescription for Ambien, which helped. I didn't use it every night, even though I was told it wasn't addictive. Gradually, I began to sleep and feel better.

In the spring of 2018, I met the man who would become my second husband, Ted. We had some great years together until he also passed in the fall of 2024, falling in the middle of the night. 10 days later, my father, who had been in a car accident that spring, was also gone.

Sleep can be difficult when one's mind won't stop. When the nights were achingly quiet, I thought about Paul, Ted, my father, or sometimes death in general. I thought about my occupation (teaching music) or specific goals or lessons. I pondered retirement, my book series, Vocal writing, and a myriad of other topics.

Back to Good Friday. That evening, my friend and I performed one of my original compositions for my church. I had recorded the accompaniment and I played the flute live, and we both sang. Perhaps it was the bittersweet message that gave me peace. Perhaps it was one less thing on my plate after a job well done. For whatever reason, I slept without waking, without chemical assistance.

Most nights since then, I've gotten five or six hours with no hope of more. Other nights, I've gotten up to go to the bathroom and may or may not have gotten back to sleep.

I always try to do something pleasant or mind-numbing just before bed. Sometimes, I watch a comedic movie or show or read from the humor community on Vocal. Some evenings, I play Wordscapes or Sudoku or listen to soothing music. Each night is different, and some are more successful than others.

For those who tend to have difficulty sleeping through the night, don't hesitate to speak with your medical professional. Counseling may help. I find that communication, even with friends, while difficult, can be advantageous. A prescription could also help, at least temporarily.

What that one night gave me was the promise that deep, uninterrupted sleep is once again possible. It assured me that I can live alone for now and be content. Slowly, grief is making way for fond memories and some semblance of normalcy.

May we all have sound slumber, pleasant dreams, and wakeful, productive days.