Early Morning Look

 The morning air is waking the sleep from the night. The snow is resting on the grass. The sun is just peeking out from the blanket of darkness. The morning sounds are just whispering across the land. A distant, car engine is heard, a rooster crowing. A light breeze is rustling the twigs on the trees. The train whistle breaks though the quiet, like a teapot on a stove. Sharp, surprising, as it is a forgotten sound, until then.
 I step outside to sip my coffee and have a cigarette. My white, fluffy robe is wrapped about me, over my pajamas, as I too, am just waking up with this day. I am exhaling the sleep from my soul, and inhaling the crispness of this early, morning time.
 I spent the night with a friend near my office on Friday, so on Saturday, I could go to my mom's house again to clean, one last time. It saved me and my Honda another 60 mile drive, by doing so. Jean and I enjoyed our conversations and exchange of opinions on life and humanity. She is a spiritual person in many ways, also. She is wise and kind and giving. Her husband has been ill for some time. A weakness of sorts and of weight loss in an unhealthy manner. They are dealing with it. She was a former caregiver with my office, then promoted to supervisor. She was a supervisor I trained for a few yeas, and two years ago, accepted a training position with our agency. I rarely see her, but since the end of December until January 23, she has been working in my office as her trainings were not scheduled yet. I adore her and respect her.
 I went to my mom's on Saturday. I still have a daze about me when I walk into the empty house. Nothing on the walls, the furniture removed and the nick knacks, which were abound, are gone. She has been in the hospital for five days last week. Swelling in her legs created a loss of ambulation. Rehab is her next stop, to work her through a physical therapy program, and regain that strength and mobility. I have not been able to talk to her yet, as she has not had access to a phone. That is coming, now that her placement in a facility has been established, for a few weeks, anyway. I shall try to contact her in a day or two. I am concerned. She will be 95 in March. Though I predicted her move to be near my father's grave and my family in the Midwest, one of choosing for her final years, one month after her move, was not the time frame I had imagined, for a hospital stay. My gut determines she'll pull out of this. She will enjoy some time back there, before the end.
 These are some thoughts that float through my mind when I look at this early morning, waking up.
 A notation of thought; the number 26 is a good/bad number for me. My father died on September 26th, 1961. I was born on October 5th, 1961. (Yes, my mother's husband died, and about a week later, gave birth.) I was married on September 26th, 1981. My daughter was born on June 26th, 1985, and June 26th was actually the wedding anniversary of both of her grandmas. I married my second husband on April 26th, 2008, and filed for our divorce on April 26th, 2010. (Yep, two years to the date.) Maybe I should be betting that number on a Roulette table or use it in lottery pickings. I'd either make bank or loose my shorts. Just now thought of these tidbits. First time I ever wrote it out.