The Sun Never Rises

The Sun Never Rises

By Michael P Coleman

Mornings, and particularly sunrises, have always been special times for me, for as long as I can remember. Almost sacred, actually. It was years before I finally figured out why.

There was a lot of trauma going on in the small three bedroom ranch in which I grew up, in metro Detroit. My father was a hard-working, mostly loving father who battled alcoholism and battered my mother. That cocktail didn’t lend itself to a great night’s sleep many nights for me, my brother, and my two younger sisters. No little boy or girl should be awakened at 2am by the unforgettable sound of their mother begging for her life, at the wrong end of a rugged fist or a loaded .38.

A lot of trauma.

I was an early riser even as a kid, and as I mentioned, it was years before I realized, with the help of an exceptional therapist, why I have always found mornings to be so special. Mornings represent arrival, or almost victory. When I woke up as a kid in that bottom bunk bed every morning, I knew that I had made it. We all had survived. The Detroit sunrise meant that the terror of the night was over, if for only 16 or so hours.

I have gotten quite good at enjoying my mornings over the years. I still am the first to arise in my house, years after driving my first wife and kids crazy by doing it. I don’t need caffeine, like a lot of Americans, to get going. A hot cup of decaf or tea steams my sinuses out just after I hop out of bed, and I’m up and at ‘em usually between five and six o’clock. During the summer, I enjoy actually watching the sun rise, as I did this morning.

The only thing I don’t like about my current home is the lack of a big window that faces east.

Over the last couple of years and after the first COVID-mandated shelter-in-place order took effect, I have really stepped up efforts to create a heck of a sanctuary out back, with chaise lounges and chairs that face east. Those clusters of chairs allow me to pick my spot to experience the miracle that is waking up each morning, and watch that glorious sunrise creep up into the sky, as I did this morning…

…when it hit me. I have never watched the sun come up.

Because the sun has never come up.

Click here to read freelance writer Michael P Coleman‘s full column. 

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