It’s just a matter of time

Uncle Eugene’s breaking down. Murmurs come from the room down the hall - Surgery. Blood clot. A third kind of cancer. “It’s just a matter of time.” But for now, I’m laying by the fire, warmth seeping into my bones. My grandparents are alive, one falling into incoherence, but not bad yet. My mother is here. My father is upstairs. We are under one roof. And I am escaping into a written world by the warmth of the fire. The world outside is cold, and eventually I must face the chill for the sake of my dog and because time marches forever forward with graceless strides. But for once, my mind is calm, and I will drape myself with this moment when the wind picks back up.