the Time between

I HAD WOKEN UP THAT FRIDAY IN MAINE lying on a blow up mattress in the middle of the living room, when Joe’s kid Kevin came running in and plopped on top of me for some early morning snuggles.

As his head rested on my chest, I thought of how precious the moment was. Kevin, being a mostly non-verbal autist, expressed his feelings in non-traditional ways - but this was a sign that he liked and felt comfortable with me. Joe, when he emerged from his room, smiled and gently said Kevin’s name, because Kevin would have to get ready to go to school soon.

The sound of Mr. Chu, the rabbit stirring in his enclosure on the right back corner of the living room swept lazily through the air as Kait woke up and came out into the living room in her hoodie. She offered to make omlettes, and Joe and I went out to grab the ingredients.
I stretched the day out as long as I could, knowing that I would need to return to New Jersey by the next day to try and do “Skitterday” - the once a week creative day my brothers and I were going to have to actually give breath to the skits we have been creating over the last two decades - but wanting to spend the extra time with one of my close friends that I hadn’t seen in at least eight years.

I stretched it out until 2pm, when Joe’s mom came over; we played a game of Munchkin before I left, As i write this, I can’t remember who won - just that it was a fun game.
As i rolled out of the driveway on a middle-of-Maine back road, I contemplated my next move, and where I was going to stay that night. I didn’t know whether I would drive straight through to New Jersey or split the drive in half - make the bulk of the drive during the day and finish up the rest in the morning. To help make the decision, I reached out to my brother, Josiah, who lives in Vermont - which would be a small detour, but not too far out of the way. I decided to grab some fabled Maine Lobster roll as I waited for his reply. About 8 miles from Dexter, I found a place that was off the beaten path. The parking lot was huge and across the street from a wild expanse of woods. The night sky had blanketed the area in a darkness only experienced in these rural areas of the world, where there is very little light pollution and street lamps are a rarity.
Josiah ended up responding to me as soon as I pulled in, but upon looking up his address, I realized that I wouldnt be to him until around 11pm that night and my second question became - what time would he need to got o bed, and how much time would I actually get to spend with him? The answer was not too late, and not very long.. so I decided to try and make the trip back to New Jersey in one fell swoop, and stay in the mid point between my two brothers. I sat down and ordered a lobster roll and two desserts, which in hind sight, was way too much sugar. THe lobster roll, however, was absolutelt fabulous. And then, I was on my way.

I drove about two hours before stopping to refill on gas, and made the decision to call my brother Jason to check and see what time we were going to meet up the following day, but found out that he had picked up an extra shift for Saturday, and Chris ended up high for the first time. As it would turn out, they both thought I was travelling for a week, and would not be back that weekend… which left me too far from Josiah and too far from Joe, with nothing to do the following day. I was in Amesbury, Massachusetts, with a gas pump in my hand, and a glimmer of sleepiness spreading slowly through my system.

It was 10pm at night, and I realized I was in Massachusetts. So was my aunt, and my cousins. I promptly decided I’d pay them a visit, and went to search for a hotel to bed down in that night.
After a debacle, I found one at roughly 1:30am for a price point much higher than I had hoped.
The next morning, I started my drive to Springfield, taking the opportunity to sight see along the way. On the itinerary was H.P Lovecraft’s old girlfriends’ college, where the supposed Necronomicon was buried deep below the surface, and a castle in the middle of a park. Both things were cool in and of themselves.

Upon arrival in the middle of the afternoon- was greeted by my second cousin, Bennie, who hadn’t seen me in so long, he forgot what I looked like. He had grown a decent amount int he six years that had elapsed. His voice had gotten deeper, his height had started to surpass my own, and in the days I would spend with him, I would find his desire for knowledge had grown very far beyond the rambunctious, inattentive nature of his youth.
My Aunt Matt had made a call out to my other cousin, Hope, so that that whole side of the family could all have dinner together, and she revealed to me that we were having lasagna - which is my favorite meal, of which she remembered. Ash, my little cousin, had her two kids over - both of which I had not yet had the opportunity to meet. They took to me relatively quick, and the whole dinner was full of laughter and smiles.

But it was that moment, looking around the table, that I realized, I didn’t realize how much time had passed. Bennie had grown from a six year old into a thirteen year old, Hope had gotten a few degrees in college, Ash had two kids - one of which, had already gone passed the toddler phase that I never saw, and Aunt Matt had quit smoking and begun walking to better her health. When I looked at Ash and Steve, I was no longer looking at Newlyweds, but a married couple who had braved the first six years of marriage already, and was only four years away from a decade.

I would spend the next day and a half there. In that course, I would find that Bennie didn’t know very much about our family. I was the only other Miller he had met, besides his grandmother and mother. he only briefly remembered my father. I felt good that I was able to share with him the things I had learned about the family, and the history I was able to trace back; I was able to show him the family tree of people he had never heard of, or knew existed. I was happy he was interested.

I left for new jersey that afternoon, stopping for the night to bed down at a hotel so that I could explore a little bit of upstate new York or Connecticut. I dined that night at a lebanese place, next to my hote, which served some of the best hummus I had ever had.
The next morning, I headed off to Molten Java, the place where I penned my last entry.

The road after that beautiful Victorian coffee house, both figuratively and literally, has been a roller coaster of sorts. Winding roads led me home that afternoon; I was captivated by the scenery by viola road in Upstate New York, by 202. The architecture of the buildings was old brick, aged and covered moss. It was reminiscent of the old country homes in Ireland, along Connor’s Pass. The churches of old in these parts looked different from those that I had around me. Mausoleums and wrought iron gates decorated them. the steel was twisted into shape, imperfect, but inside that imperfection was beauty; it was a story of old craftsmanship, when things were crafted by the hands of men, rather than the movement of machines.

I kept consistent with sending texts to Tinderella; determined to not allow the same mistake to befall me again - though, this time around it was easy; the days since meeting her stretched off into small bouts of eternity. I felt the weight of the clocks hands as they pushed on. Each minute, each hour; I was no longer outside of times’ grasp. The days were no longer just moments blurred and huddled together, they were separate and disparate. I sometimes felt like I had so much time that I didn’t know what to do with it. Often, I would drift in and out of daydreams of her and I, though, sadly, our conversations seemed short, yet not disinterested.

She sent pictures more willingly. Some days, there were long discussions, The time between returning from Kansas City and Thanksgiving felt like two months, but eventually, it came.

I spent time with John-John the days before, helping him remodel his bathroom, and then the plan was to bounce around to as many Thankgivings as I could. That is the way in which I can say I am lucky. I always have choices on the holidays of where to go; I have plenty of love from my made families,
The day prior, I left for Kerri and jay’s house, in Point Pleasant where I could spend some time with my niece and help them prep for the next day, before I headed off to my step-mothers, to begin the festivities with my brothers, before I set the course for North Jersey to visit and spend time with my Uncle Rich, who would otherwise be spending the holiday alone.

I packed up some food and made the trek, letting him know that I would be arriving around 6pm, but would only be able to stay until around 7:30, because I would be heading off to John-Johns to spend the rest of the night.

I arrived early, with a tray of food that we could split. I had turkey, corn, mashed potatoes and yams. My Uncle Rich greeted me at the door, and the smile stretched wide on both sides of his face, beneath his white bushy mustache.
”You’re 15 minutes early!” he exclaimed, before dispatching his praises for my arrival, and his glee of being able to have a dinner with me on Thanksgiving. I would be his first person he’d have over in quite some time for Thankgiving dinner; he shuffled off without his walker to the kitchen, where he had cleared some space for us to eat, and whipped out his homemade hard cider. He told me he had walked quite a bit that day for physical therapy (which at this point, had been self governed), as he opened the turkey gravy for his food, and we heated up the meals.

The meals were heated up and placed on the table aroun 5:55pm. I took my seat at the table, as Uncle Rich stood over the food. As he was about to sit, he looked up, and I saw concern cross his dark brown eyes for a moment, before he said “That’s not right”, and fell backwards.

The moment was quick and slow all at once. I can remember getting up from the table to try and catch him, blocked by the chair that he grabbed as he went down. With a sickening thud, he fell between his refrigerator and radiator, his head hitting the yellow and denting the yellow wall close to the floor, leaving his neck at a discomforting angle.

I ran over to his limp body, noticing that there was blood now on the arm of his purple plaid shirt, closest to his elbow. I didn’t know if he was live or if he was dead, his eyes were closed. I grabbed his hand and said his name over and over “Uncle Rich, can you hear me? I’m here, Uncle Rich.”

My heart was unnaturally steady. For a brief moment, I hoped he had not died, but the thoughts of keeping me alive didn’t take long to overshadow it. I dialed 9-1-1 on my cell phone, but had no service.
Uncle Rich’s eyes opened, but they were distant, and he was not yet verbally responsive. I asked him the questions I had once been taught to ask. I asked him his name, I asked him if he knew where he was, but he couldnt answer. His grip just tightened on my hand.

“Don’t move your head, uncle Rich. Stay still. I will be back, I need to call the ambulance.” I told him, as I ran into his living room to grab his house phone (this is the very reason I still heavily believe we should always have landlines.) As 9-1-1 was on the phone, I recited my uncles address, while maintaining contact and communication with him. When he began to speak, he was only able to repeat the same question. “Did I fall? That’s no good, I’m not supposed to fall.”

He told me his neck hurt. I knew the importance of not moving his head, but also knew the weight of his body and the position of his neck was not good; the prolonged position of both would bother a healthy 20 year old, let alone, a just fallen and newly injured 94 year old.
I secured his head with one hand, and pulled his body back with another. At the time, 180 pounds did not seem very much. Before the police arrived, I maintained dialogue, trying to assess his mental function, but increasingly more aware that he was concussed. Time and location were confused, He started letting out groans of pain for his neck; I applied pressure on his elbow, that he apparently had minorly scraped on his radiator as he fell. Thankfully, he listened, and remained still, as I reminded him to, over and over.
When the officer arrived, I took the opportunity to call up my uncle’s daughter-in-law to keep them in the loop; they just so happened to be on their way back.

It took a while for the ambulance to arrive. I watched their every move, I followed my uncles’ sons’ every instruction to answer the questions he paramedics asked, as to his medications and his recent health.
My cousins arrived just before they began to load him off to the hospital. His mind started to recover a bit. I packed up the food so that he could have it at a later time.

I road in the front with someone who seemed to be a novice driver; he took turns roughly in the beginning - and I offered to take up navigation, as he was trying to hold onto his phone and was clumsily riding down the narrow country roads in the darkness of the night.

“Ryan?” Uncle Rich said from the back.
”Yes, Ryan is in the front, he’s right here with you, Your nephew is here.” answered one of the EMTs.

“Good. Hey, Ryan, Hang in there, alright?” he replied, utilising a bit of his humor, At this point, they had given him a bit of fentanyl for the pain - but I was glad to hear his mind seemed to be recovering.

I messaged John to let him know I would not be able to make Thanksgiving, and what had occurred, but asked him if I could crash at his house when I left the hospital. I, however, was there until around 1am. The diagnosis for my uncle was that he had a fractured C2. He was given about six months recovery time.
We sat with him until they gave him a room, but as the hours pressed on, I kept zoning off to the image of him falling over and over, increasingly aware of how close he was to death. I was thankful he was not dead, but the burden of guilt rested on my shoulders. I was upset that I wasn’t fast enough to catch him, and I felt guilty that he had spent the day before staying up entirely too late trying to put together some information about our family for me.

John told me he would leave the door unlocked.

But when arrived close to 2am in the morning, his grandmother in-law had locked the door when she had gotten up. Through the window, I could see the purple light from the newly renovated bathroom, and smirked that he was able to finish it.
Finding a hotel that night was rough. I bounced between two different hotels that were completely sold out, the sleepiness and emotional weight of the evening growing heavy on the lids of my eyes, and close to 2:30am, I found a hotel. The gentleman at the front, Andre, was extremely nice and understanding. He gave me late check out, and left a note for the cleaning staff to not bother me. I laid in bed that night and I cried until I was finally able to drift off to sleep.

I extended my stay the next day, taking the day to myself, but making sure I could call my uncle to check in on him. I let Tinderella know what happened, and was comforted by the fact that she showed care and tenderness for my emotions.

November 28th had arrived, and I alredy knew that i wanted to see her again.