I’m on Day 3 of a Bad Cold. It’s not really that bad, I suppose, but it’s sort of hard to tell when you mix it with ALS. In general, I don’t have a lot of coughing or nose-blowing strength, so when I’m stuffy and congested, things can be uncomfortable. My sore throat keeps me up at night, and that really highlights the fact that I can’t move around and adjust my body very well. A cold is manageable, but those of us with ALS fear getting sick like this. The flu could involve a hospital visit. Pneumonia could be fatal.

But, lucky me, it’s just this head cold. The nicest part is that with Rob on vacation and Scarlett out of school, I’ve just been able to lie in bed and nap all day. Floating in and out of consciousness, I find that I am surprisingly apathetic towards my situation. I was napping yesterday when they went to the park for a few hours, and I vaguely connected to the thought that I was literally stuck in bed, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to be still, to be alone, to be quiet.

I have more and more moments like these, even when I don’t have a cold. Sometimes, a lot of talking is fine, especially if I care about what’s being discussed. I have much to say about the kindergarten admissions process in San Francisco. I’m interested in hearing people’s thoughts on major events taking place in the world. I can even talk at (some) length about stupid Netflix TV shows. And I’m always happy and honored to listen to what’s going on in the lives of my friends.

I’m not trying to say ALS has made me smarter or deeper. But inane chatter, talk just for the sake of talking, I don’t have the patience for it. I’m not sure I even have the ability for it anymore. It’s exhausting and unnecessary to work at filling silence. Silence already has so much to say, if you’re paying attention.

So lying in my bed these past few days, my eyes so fatigued there was no choice but to close them, I stayed silent, but aware. In some ways, ALS has made me more patient in my own body. I thought that I would panic, rail against my immobility, but instead, I just sat with it. I breathed. I allowed myself to take breaks from being all here. Normally, I don’t get that chance. I have to be out of bed, I have to be a functional mom. It felt good to rest from everything, even with a sore throat and aching head.

I guess what I’ve been doing is a form of meditating. It takes me back to the day nearly 5 years ago, when I was in labor. Scarlett was on the way, and I have never felt pain like that in my life. I had to retreat, and so I did. That was different, in that there were only so many breaths I had to take before the pain was over and I had something extraordinary to show for it. This meditation that I’m experiencing now, it is somewhat constant. Perhaps it’s showing me what it really means to live in the moment. I thought I knew.

My throat and my head are already starting to feel better. The new year is approaching, and with it, dates and obligations. The calendar fills, the hours go by. I don’t always get to stop and breathe—who does? But I know that as my disease progresses, there will be more need for silence, and for the time to float away for a while. Being present doesn’t always mean appreciating every second of the day. Sometimes it means just letting them pass.

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