My Dearest Friend: 5 am

My Dearest Friend,

Do you recall my night time routine? Please forgive my getting straight to the point on this letter. I have barely noticed my surroundings lately, nor have I encountered anything to make mention of. My daily routine is the same as always. Work. Children. Meals. Prayers. Listening to this one and that one. So, there's really nothing new to discuss there. It is the night time that holds my attention.

Or, rather, the hours right before dawn when the house rests under the weight of its occupants. This is when I can breathe. When I feel myself relax and let go of the turmoil that has begun to engulf my life.

It used to be that 3 am my eyes would pop open. Some unseen force, rather it's my subconscious telling me there are things to analyze, or it be Insomnia, Himself, bringing out my demons march in front of my line of sight, but something would always wake me up at this un-godly hour. I used to tell you that 3 am was my witching hour and it was then, and only then, that my imagination really came to life. The shadows that lived in the lived in the corners of my bedroom woke up alongside me, and together, we would travel down some fantastic roads.

Do you remember? Can you recall the odd hours we'd stay up to? And how I'd explain my dreams to you? There were times you were so silent that I'd wonder if you were still with me on my journey. But, you were. You always were. You never strayed. No matter where I took you, you trusted me enough to bring you back to yourself safe and sound. 

Man, I miss that. I miss you.

That no longer occurs. I have chosen a painless night over my imagination. Each night, I take a tiny white pill that promises long hours of sleep with no pain. In return, I give up my journeys, my dancing shadows, the demons that frighten me and fuel my hellish stories of Insomnia. I feel like I've made a pact with the Devil. I would much rather be able to bare the lightning strikes that run from my abdomen down to my toes and call forth my imagination.

I want my 3 am and my long talks with God. My 3 am prayers.  I just want my 3 am back.

Instead, I set my alarm clock for 5 am every morning. Monday thru Sunday, the morning hour of 5 sees me starting a pot coffee and cracking open the bible. At 5 am, I am studious, inquisitive, and intent. Most mornings, I am writing down a bible verse here and there that speaks to me or my situation. I write my thoughts on the verse. And, finally, I write my prayers.

I started this 5 am routine around the start of summer when I was told that I had fibromyalgia. While I had long suspected it, what I didn't anticipate were the medications and their hellish side effects and what they would do to my 3 am self.

When I tell people what I do at 5 am, they seem to look at me with much respect. What they don't realize is what I am doing. I'm trying to find my way back to my 3 am imagination. Strange. I know. But as strange as it sounds, I also know if I had tried to explain it to you, you would have nodded and immediately known what I was trying to say.

My imagination is where I see Him. Where I speak to Him. It's where He comforts me and He answers my questions. Without my 3 am connection, I have become lost.

Now, I read and pray like everyone else and try to establish a connection that I don't think I was ever meant to have.

This has all left me wishing and praying for one important thing. God, please give me a higher pain tolerance so that I may get off these little white pills. So that I may awaken at 3 am and go on these wonderful journeys. Or, better yet, so maybe, I can talk to you like I used to. Five am holds no magic for me. The house holds no mystery, no malice as it rests beneath its occupants. Shadows do not move in its corners. Night lights are not needed. Five am is nothing more than a morning like every other that I wake up at. I do not come alive like I did at 3 am.

My sweet friend, it's times like this that I miss you the most. I miss your understanding, not just of the situation, but of me as well. Perhaps, deep down, that is what I miss about you the most. Your understanding of me and all my quirks. I never realized it til now. How much I lack that in my life. Since you've left, I haven't had another you. While you, yourself, will never be replaced, I do hope to have another friend to understand me as you did.

I miss you, my Dear Friend, more than you can see from your spot in Heaven.

I must go now. Now that I sleep past my witching hour, my alarm is set for 5 am. And it comes awfully early.

Love You So Much,

Wes