05 Dec 2012
There’s that half-conscious moment, when you wake on the heels of a crisis or a loss or some life-changing event, and you don’t yet remember that thing which weighed heavily upon you the night before. This little gift of blissful calm has been noted many times before and not without reason, as it is this half-breath, this brief, but blessed reprieve which we all long for.
The first moments of those first days after Alice's revelation are like that, gloriously shrouded in the fog of sleep. Reality seeps in however between the 6:05 and 6:15 alarms. By Saturday however, I wake knowing what I knew the night before and not feeling some horrific loss. I roll out of bed and our collie Chloe follows me down the hall, always on my heels.
We find Alice sprawled on the couch in the living room, a feather blanket flopped over her and an old movie still queued on the DVD. Chloe nudges Alice with her nose and in response, the child shrugs and rubs her cheek but does not wake.
I cannot help but examine her while she sleeps and the only way I can think to explain it is through this lenticular animation button I got at Disneyland when I was a kid. If you tilted it one way, you saw Mickey Mouse all decked out in his Sorcerer's Apprentice outfit. But if you tilted it in the opposite direction, Mickey disappeared and there was Minnie, with a fist of flowers and a picnic basket.
Seeing Alice rather than Jordan asleep on the couch on the morning of Day Four isn't all that hard. Tilt your head, adjust your expectations a notch or two, and there she is. My Minnie. Tilt it back, and she fades into that familiar boy. I watched Chloe nuzzle her cheek, all intimate and nonchalant and there is a part of me that is momentarily jealous of her lack of confusion.