After The Storm

After the storm.

While the wind  of Storm Imogen howls through the streets of Exeter this afternoon I sit in the dark of a cinema engulfed by the glorious music of Verdi's La Traviata. 

I nearly didn't come. It meant leaving Robin for 7 hours. Even though one friend was picking him up  at 10am and taking him out and another friend was picking him up at 2.30 and taking him out  - it's the time in-between I worried about.

Would he eat the plate of  lunch I left him? 

No. 

Would he remember to have a rest in his clothes as he can't get dressed by himself? 

Yes. 

Would he wake up in time for his afternoon visitor? 

Yes.

Would he be able to go to the loo and clean himself?

 N/A

My friends taking me to the Opera counselled me. 

Can you be with him 24 hours a day?

 No.

What's the worst that could happen?

My friends would have to deal with a toilet emergency.

Is there any point going to the cinema if you are going to be worrying about him the whole time?

No.

What could you do then?

Not go. Or trust he'll be OK and whatever happens our friends will handle it.

I'm so glad I did go. I loved every minute, every aria. And  I let gratitude instead of anxiety be my constant companion as the music and the sadness of the story swept me up into another world far away from the storm raging outside. And  the one howling inside my head.