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For two hours last Friday I was home alone. This may not seem remarkable to most people, but for me it was an unexpected miracle. My husband’s attendant and a former attendant decided, on their own initiative, to take Ralph shopping. 

This has never happened before. Oh sure, there were some ulterior motives. Andrea wanted to shop for herself, but she had no transportation. And since she doesn’t have a driver’s license, she recruited Hans to ferry her in our van. This required some fiscal negotiations between them. 

I was so moved by their semi-altruistic philanthropy, I offered financial restitution for the self-motivated scheme. 

They helped Ralph out of bed, dressed him and secured him in his wheelchair. They assisted him in getting inside the van. Then they waved goodbye to me and departed. 

I was left on the sidewalk in front of our house, utterly alone in the middle of North Oakland, un-tethered, and free of any responsibilities. Whiskers, our dog, was with me, but she is like a small piece of furniture, requiring nothing from me but occasional butt and ear scratches. 

I went inside the house. It was implausibly quiet. I looked around. Familiar things appeared unfamiliar in the eerie silence. I went upstairs, checked my e-mail, flopped down on the couch, got up and looked out my bedroom window. What was I going to do by myself? 

I called a friend. “I’m alone,” I said. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. I explained to her that the last time I was alone in my house was over two years ago, when I came home to rest while Ralph was a patient in the intensive care unit at Kaiser Permanente. Neither of our live-in attendants had been in at the time. But the pleasure of being alone was lost in the sea of anxiety and responsibility I felt for Ralph’s health and well-being. 

Today was different. I wasn’t worried about Ralph. He was in relatively good health and with people who knew and cared about him. 

“What should I do?” I asked my friend. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe you should sit still and listen to what your heart tells you.” 

I hung up the phone and sat still. I could almost hear my heart beating, and 

the sound of my rhythmic inhales and exhales was disconcerting. I listened closely. What were my heart and lungs saying to me? I wasn’t sure, but my head instructed me to do something familiar and comforting. 

I called my sister-in-law and offered to take care of my nephew and niece for the weekend. Then I called Clyiesha’s grandmother and invited Clyiesha to spend the night. By the time Ralph, Andrea and Hans returned from their adventure, the house was full. Clyiesha’s cousin Bobby had arrived with her. Our housemate Willie had returned from his job at Doug’s Barbecue. Andrea and Hans got Ralph ready for bed. Andrea flipped on the overhead lights and Ralph’s three television sets. Then she went upstairs and turned on her TV. 

Willie was already in his room, listening to his boom box. Clyiesha, Bobby and Bryce ran through the house while my niece, Kanna, struggled to keep up. I was no longer at loose ends. I had a home full of kids, two housemates, a dog, a husband, four TVs, and one radio to distract me. I couldn’t hear myself think, or my heart and lungs pulse and pump. But I was gratifyingly frazzled and oddly content; truly happy for the first time in hours. 

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