time

There is a rustic warmth to the family home in which I stay to spend time with Martha and Barry. When you enter the house, resting in the middle of the breathtaking Saskatchewan landscape, you will most likely be welcomed by one or more dog and one of a few cats.

Illustrations © Barbara J Holzapfel

On my first visit, as I stepped into the foyer, I found myself looking through a doorway with a simple homemade gate securing the room entryway, it's purpose being, I would soon learn, to control their young shepherd pup from interrupting the resting Barry or Martha. As I gazed through the doorway I noticed, curled up at the far end of the bed, frail and sleeping Martha.

This room in which Martha and Barry spend the majority of their time feels different than any of the other rooms. It feels as though there is an invisible energy field of 'there is no such thing as time' filtered throughout their room.

As Martha becomes more sensitive to light, electric light with appropriate shading is preferred, rather than the less manageable, ever changing sunlight. At any time of the day or night one may walk into the room and never know what time it is. The scheduled meal times help to identify what the clock may say, but even those loose there dependability as appetites evolve and wane.

In this sacred space it is most often not quiet or still. No, it would most likely be filled with the tv telling a long forgotten tale, the tapping of the computer keys, or easy conversation between these loving, lifelong partners. Everything is deemed okay in this sacred space - tearful realizations, recollections of precious memories, passionate debates and playful banter - whatever must happen is considered, accommodated for, and accepted.