I notice my husband, Jeff, standing very still at the living room window. At the moment, however, I am busy chasing our two-year-old son. On my second pass through the living room, I see Jeff putting his shoes back on.
He had only been home from work a few minutes.
“Where are you going?”
“The garbage trucks came by two days ago, but Kay’s trashcans are still on the curb.”
Jeff says this with a sense of urgency that I fail to understand.
“That’s nice, Honey, but could you bring them in for her after you help me get this boy into the bathtub?”
“Denise, she has M.S., remember? Maybe the cans are still out there because she’s having one of those spells. Maybe she needs help.”
I feel silly. Here I am, the person who is in this house every minute of every day, yet I am not the one who notices our neighbor’s trashcans still sitting on the street.
Jeff knocks on her door.
After a few minutes of no response . . . (Continue Reading).