There's a lot I could say about my wife's last eleven posts. There's a lot I did say about them--to her. What I felt as I read them all back to back
last night, and the memories and emotions that were conjured up were just a bit incredible. As public as we are usually willing to display our affections, I hope you'll forgive me in that what I said to her, and how I thanked her, are very, very private.
But now have at least an idea why I treasure this woman.
Showing posts with label god i love my wife. Show all posts
Showing posts with label god i love my wife. Show all posts
Monday, February 8, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Hey, Chucks
Yeah, it's a lot like this.
Happy anniversary, angel, and thank you for the most amazing fifteen years
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
She never tells me ahead of time if she's really good at something. The first time we shot a game of pool she neglected to tell me she'd been playing from around age 3, and that her father built a fame around the pool table so that she could reach it. You don't want to challenge her to 9 ball, unless you enjoy being humiliated. When we decided to bowl in a league, she never mentioned that she had an average around 180, and had come close to a perfect game once or twice. When she wants to do something well, she damn well does it well.
Skiing is no different. We took a one day how-to course, and she was instantly good at it. I, on the other hand, fell on my face a few dozen times, and it took a while before I could manage anything other than the bunny slopes.
But, skiing isn't the reason we're going; we're going because we wanted to go back to where it pretty much started, at least from a matrimonial POV. Even though we had eloped, I wanted her to at least have a decent honeymoon, and a cabin in the woods during winter was something I could arrange on short notice. I rented what I thought was an upscale cabin with a hot tub; what we got was a one room cabin with a whirlpool bathtub. She never complained (I think she had other things on her mind) and once in a while has mentioned wanting to go back. So we will.
This time we do have much better accommodations (I made sure of the hot tub; forget the kinky possibilities, she still needs it to keep from stiffening up) and a killer view of the lake, and I suspect this time around we'll actually see more of the sun and will try to make a few runs down the hill, depending on how she feels.
The day we get there will be 7 months since her accident, and if I'd had the presence of mind to consider it then, I wouldn't have thought this trip would even be possible. I don't care if we ski, I don't care if we have sex or not, I don't care if all we do is sit there and rake in the view; we made it to fifteen years through her considerable willpower and tenacity to live, and a grace I can only assume comes from something bigger than either of us.
And no, you can't come with us.
There just might be sex, and I don't need an audience ;)
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Nine or ten years ago I had a whim to put a pool in the backyard. The whim was fueled by an evening spent playing pool and drinking beer with my father and father in law, and I determined (around beer #6, I think) that not only would we have a pool, but I would do all the work myself. I had no idea what that might entail, but I was determined, and actually painted off the area where this pool would go, and started to dig a hole.
Two and a half feet down, with an area roughly four feet by four feet dug out, I changed my mind and made a wood form for the hole, filled it with sand, and created a play area for the kids.
I was reminded of this at eight o’clock this morning by a grumpy, “If you’d actually finished the pool, I could stay home and sleep in, and I wouldn’t have to go with you in order to swim.” I didn’t earn any points by pointing out that she’s not swimming, she’s walking, and had I created the pool I envisioned it would have been too deep for her to manage that.
Even with the cast on her arm, she can still flip me off.
Honestly, I had not expected her to want to go to the dojang this morning. I only had one class to teach and Alex intended to skip his in order to stay home with her; she had other ideas and fully intended to work out during Alex’s class. She waited in the office during my class, and when I was done we hit the pool.
No Speedos were involved.
She doesn’t fully understand why she froze in the pool yesterday; Alex was walking along beside her and they were talking about the start of school next week, and how last year when she dropped the kids off on the first day she mortified Kevin by kissing him goodbye where he friends could see. The notion that on the day of the accident she could have had any or all of them in the car with her hit her hard, and she froze. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, and she couldn’t tell Alex to just give her a few minutes and it would be all right. She was barely aware that he had gotten out of the water and couldn’t tell me how long he had waited to go get me(just a few seconds; he knew instantly that something was wrong) or how long it took for me to get there (less than thirty, I think). The only thing she knows for sure is that thought pricked at her for just a moment, and it was as painful as any of the physical pain she’s endured lately.
She’s just now starting to recover pieces of memory from the accident; she can recall the squeal of the other driver’s brakes, and she can distinctly remember the thought “God, no.” But in spite of not remembering everything, she grasps what the outcome would have been had any of the kids been in the car. She should not have survived; anyone else in the car would not have. And just the notion is tearing her up inside. It was enough to stop her in her tracks in the pool yesterday, and enough to make breathing a concentrated effort.
Today, however, we walked the pool for an hour and a half, and she was fine. When Alex’s class was over he joined us in the pool for half an hour of lap swimming. Afterwards Dack drove Rachel and Kevin to meet us for lunch, and we were able to discuss with them some of what their mother might go through, and what to do if the same thing happens again (get Dad or Grandpa, because one of them is always going to be close at hand for the foreseeable future.)
This afternoon I sat in the living room working on the dojang budget and she was in the kitchen with the kids, helping them bake cookies. There was a lot of laughter coming from all of them, and other than the fact that there are actual cookies in the house right now and I might even get one, it was a slice of ordinary. It could have been any other pre-accident Saturday afternoon.
Except, it’s not. That other shoe is starting to fall and it’s like we’re watching it in slow motion, hoping that it lands gently. I’d catch if it I could.
Two and a half feet down, with an area roughly four feet by four feet dug out, I changed my mind and made a wood form for the hole, filled it with sand, and created a play area for the kids.
I was reminded of this at eight o’clock this morning by a grumpy, “If you’d actually finished the pool, I could stay home and sleep in, and I wouldn’t have to go with you in order to swim.” I didn’t earn any points by pointing out that she’s not swimming, she’s walking, and had I created the pool I envisioned it would have been too deep for her to manage that.
Even with the cast on her arm, she can still flip me off.
Honestly, I had not expected her to want to go to the dojang this morning. I only had one class to teach and Alex intended to skip his in order to stay home with her; she had other ideas and fully intended to work out during Alex’s class. She waited in the office during my class, and when I was done we hit the pool.
No Speedos were involved.
She doesn’t fully understand why she froze in the pool yesterday; Alex was walking along beside her and they were talking about the start of school next week, and how last year when she dropped the kids off on the first day she mortified Kevin by kissing him goodbye where he friends could see. The notion that on the day of the accident she could have had any or all of them in the car with her hit her hard, and she froze. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, and she couldn’t tell Alex to just give her a few minutes and it would be all right. She was barely aware that he had gotten out of the water and couldn’t tell me how long he had waited to go get me(just a few seconds; he knew instantly that something was wrong) or how long it took for me to get there (less than thirty, I think). The only thing she knows for sure is that thought pricked at her for just a moment, and it was as painful as any of the physical pain she’s endured lately.
She’s just now starting to recover pieces of memory from the accident; she can recall the squeal of the other driver’s brakes, and she can distinctly remember the thought “God, no.” But in spite of not remembering everything, she grasps what the outcome would have been had any of the kids been in the car. She should not have survived; anyone else in the car would not have. And just the notion is tearing her up inside. It was enough to stop her in her tracks in the pool yesterday, and enough to make breathing a concentrated effort.
Today, however, we walked the pool for an hour and a half, and she was fine. When Alex’s class was over he joined us in the pool for half an hour of lap swimming. Afterwards Dack drove Rachel and Kevin to meet us for lunch, and we were able to discuss with them some of what their mother might go through, and what to do if the same thing happens again (get Dad or Grandpa, because one of them is always going to be close at hand for the foreseeable future.)
This afternoon I sat in the living room working on the dojang budget and she was in the kitchen with the kids, helping them bake cookies. There was a lot of laughter coming from all of them, and other than the fact that there are actual cookies in the house right now and I might even get one, it was a slice of ordinary. It could have been any other pre-accident Saturday afternoon.
Except, it’s not. That other shoe is starting to fall and it’s like we’re watching it in slow motion, hoping that it lands gently. I’d catch if it I could.
Friday, July 17, 2009
I may be the only person in the U.S. who hasn’t read all the Harry Potter books and who hasn’t seen all the movies, but I took the kids to see the latest one today. I didn’t pretend to know what was going on, the kids liked it and that’s all that matters. The consensus seems to be that Kevin wants to be Harry Potter, Rachel wishes Hogwarts was real, and Alex, Alex wants the girl that plays Hermione. Given his apparent penchant for older girls, I am not surprised. He was not amused when I pointed out she is older than the girl I will not allow him to see, and he’s still not dating until he’s 16.
After the movie I took the kids to see Char and they spent most of the afternoon there. Kevin brought a deck of cards and roped everyone into his version of poker, in which a pair of twos beats a pair of jacks, unless he’s holding the jacks, in which case they are wild. Everyone gets 5 cards, but he gets 6, because the youngest player is allowed an advantage. I blame this on my father. Before he died he spent quite a bit of time trying to teach my kids to gamble, in spite of my protests, and he tended to make up his own rules, too.
Brad picked them up and they’re spending the night with him. It gives Dack and Theresa a break from babysitting (although they are not babysitting Alex, they are merely his backup. This is his official version.) Because they’re with their grandfather I didn’t feel too bad about staying late at the hospital and Char wanted me there. Even with the rehab from hell this morning, after a nap she felt like wandering the halls and waited until the kids were gone. We went to the cafeteria for dinner and then found a fairly nice waiting room that had a big screen TV and a sofa instead of those hard chairs you usually find.
The bonus here was watching Char move herself from the wheelchair onto the sofa. It wasn’t easy and I know it was painful but I think she mostly wanted to prove to me that she could do it. And fark yes I was impressed. Double bonus: (roll your eyes all you want and I’ll shake the sand out of my vag later, BUT) this was the first time we’ve been able to sit together and I’ve been able to just hold her. I got whacked by the arm cast a few times but she wasn’t as uncomfortable as she’s been lately, and she hasn’t had to take as much Percoset today. Downside: an escalating level of frustration. Use your imagination.
Tomorrow the leg brace comes off and she’ll try to walk without it. I’m frankly a little weirded out by the idea of her walking on a broken leg but I’ve been assured by more than one person that because of the rods that this is normal. I think they’re going to seriously push her over the weekend and if they’re convinced she’s ready for private rehab and if they’re convinced I am on board with the program and won’t turn into some sniveling enabler, she’ll be able to go home.
I don’t think that will help the frustration level any, but I’d rather be frustrated with her at home than in the hospital. And fark, women, you people can be mean about it sometimes.
After the movie I took the kids to see Char and they spent most of the afternoon there. Kevin brought a deck of cards and roped everyone into his version of poker, in which a pair of twos beats a pair of jacks, unless he’s holding the jacks, in which case they are wild. Everyone gets 5 cards, but he gets 6, because the youngest player is allowed an advantage. I blame this on my father. Before he died he spent quite a bit of time trying to teach my kids to gamble, in spite of my protests, and he tended to make up his own rules, too.
Brad picked them up and they’re spending the night with him. It gives Dack and Theresa a break from babysitting (although they are not babysitting Alex, they are merely his backup. This is his official version.) Because they’re with their grandfather I didn’t feel too bad about staying late at the hospital and Char wanted me there. Even with the rehab from hell this morning, after a nap she felt like wandering the halls and waited until the kids were gone. We went to the cafeteria for dinner and then found a fairly nice waiting room that had a big screen TV and a sofa instead of those hard chairs you usually find.
The bonus here was watching Char move herself from the wheelchair onto the sofa. It wasn’t easy and I know it was painful but I think she mostly wanted to prove to me that she could do it. And fark yes I was impressed. Double bonus: (roll your eyes all you want and I’ll shake the sand out of my vag later, BUT) this was the first time we’ve been able to sit together and I’ve been able to just hold her. I got whacked by the arm cast a few times but she wasn’t as uncomfortable as she’s been lately, and she hasn’t had to take as much Percoset today. Downside: an escalating level of frustration. Use your imagination.
Tomorrow the leg brace comes off and she’ll try to walk without it. I’m frankly a little weirded out by the idea of her walking on a broken leg but I’ve been assured by more than one person that because of the rods that this is normal. I think they’re going to seriously push her over the weekend and if they’re convinced she’s ready for private rehab and if they’re convinced I am on board with the program and won’t turn into some sniveling enabler, she’ll be able to go home.
I don’t think that will help the frustration level any, but I’d rather be frustrated with her at home than in the hospital. And fark, women, you people can be mean about it sometimes.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
I’ll take progress anyway we can get it. After noting that Char was sitting up in bed with the head of the bed raised, and that it didn’t bother her, they decided to get her up today. She complained about it and I think I know two or three new swear words, but she was on her feet for several seconds and sat in a recliner for an hour or so. As long as she’s not moving, she’s not in too much pain.
She can also move the right side of her body with less pain. It’s more like the pain you get the day after a hard workout now. And this sounds selfish, but the benefit to me is that it’s eased up enough that I can sit on the edge of the bed with her, and damn I needed the hug I got today.
The other benefit is that touching of any kind creeps the teenager out.
There’s a 50-50 chance that she’ll have to face a physical therapist tomorrow. I’m not sure what that will entail but the nurse warned she might have to try to take a few steps. I think I might be more freaked out about that than Char is. I’ve broken my leg before, and there’s no way I could have walked on it a week later. She’s got a brace on the leg but still, it’s broken and the idea of bearing weight and how much that’s going to hurt has me mentally cringing on her behalf.
I will not be allowed anywhere near the room while this is going on. I’ve already been warned.
Kevin did much better seeing her today, but he got out of bed a little while ago and came in here. I think he was hoping to crawl into bed with me while I was already asleep. If I was asleep, he wouldn’t get turned around and sent back to his own bed. But right now the rules aren’t sticking and I let him stay. It’s interesting how much you can learn from a kid when he’s sleepy and his defenses are down. It’s been a long time since he’s been willing to cuddle up to me and talk.
And I get that I need sleep and I’m not going to do my family any good if I don’t get some soon. Because of the kids I absolutely cannot medicate myself to make that happen. The kid sleeping in my bed is a prime example. The kids are just as stressed out as I am and they might need me in the middle of the night. I’ll get more rest when Char is home and until then I’ll suck it up and occasionally post at three in the morning when I’m tired enough to be overly sentimental.
I love my wife. If anyone has a problem with it, I’ll bend over while they pucker up.
She can also move the right side of her body with less pain. It’s more like the pain you get the day after a hard workout now. And this sounds selfish, but the benefit to me is that it’s eased up enough that I can sit on the edge of the bed with her, and damn I needed the hug I got today.
The other benefit is that touching of any kind creeps the teenager out.
There’s a 50-50 chance that she’ll have to face a physical therapist tomorrow. I’m not sure what that will entail but the nurse warned she might have to try to take a few steps. I think I might be more freaked out about that than Char is. I’ve broken my leg before, and there’s no way I could have walked on it a week later. She’s got a brace on the leg but still, it’s broken and the idea of bearing weight and how much that’s going to hurt has me mentally cringing on her behalf.
I will not be allowed anywhere near the room while this is going on. I’ve already been warned.
Kevin did much better seeing her today, but he got out of bed a little while ago and came in here. I think he was hoping to crawl into bed with me while I was already asleep. If I was asleep, he wouldn’t get turned around and sent back to his own bed. But right now the rules aren’t sticking and I let him stay. It’s interesting how much you can learn from a kid when he’s sleepy and his defenses are down. It’s been a long time since he’s been willing to cuddle up to me and talk.
And I get that I need sleep and I’m not going to do my family any good if I don’t get some soon. Because of the kids I absolutely cannot medicate myself to make that happen. The kid sleeping in my bed is a prime example. The kids are just as stressed out as I am and they might need me in the middle of the night. I’ll get more rest when Char is home and until then I’ll suck it up and occasionally post at three in the morning when I’m tired enough to be overly sentimental.
I love my wife. If anyone has a problem with it, I’ll bend over while they pucker up.
Monday, July 6, 2009
It feels pretty damned wrong to be happy that someone spent a chunk of the day crying, but I am a little bit happy about that. Char woke up in pain and was aware enough to let me and her nurse know about it, and after some medication she went back to sleep. Her pain meds have been adjusted a little bit so that she's more coherent but it feels like they're walking a tight line because she obviously feels more pain. Today she spoke some, which relived me. In the morning she wanted to know what had happened and was satisfied with being told she was in a car accident but would be ok, and she wanted to know where the kids were. That started the tears but I wasn't sure if she was upset because she's worried about them or because she really wants to see them. She tried to tell me but she couldn't talk and cry at the same time and the crying won out.
Her facial swelling has gone down enough that our oldest can see her tomorrow morning, I think. I still don't want the younger two in here yet. I haven't asked about the rules but I'm going with what the rules were when I was a kid and back then you had to be 13 to visit an ICU. I think they'll accept that.
She slept on and off all day but at least now I can tell when she's awake and when she's not. They propped her bed up for a while to see how she took it, and she let me feed her a little bit from her dinner. Her temper is also in good form because when I asked her to try to eat just a little bit more she told me to f@*k myself, and a little after that she told me to go home.
So, I'm home. I stayed until nine o'clock to make sure she was asleep and had gotten her pain meds, but I came home tonight. I think my youngest was disappointed and worried that Dack and Theresa were going home for good but once he was assured they were staying he seemed happy. I think I'll have my daughter sleeping with me tonight. As a rule we don't allow kids in our bed but I think I have to make an exception this time.
Tomorrow afternoon Char is having surgery to put rods in her leg, but I'm not clear on how many. Her leg is broken in two places. Midway on the femur and on the tibia (?) closer to the ankle. If she's up to it before then I'll let our son in to see her, but he's already been told that I'm the only one who gets to make that call and he could wind up in the waiting room with his grandfather instead. He accepts it because we've already established in the last couple of months that I'm the World's Meanest Dad.
All in all it was a better day even though she spent part of it crying. She snapped at me and later said she loved me, so to me that's a good day.
Her facial swelling has gone down enough that our oldest can see her tomorrow morning, I think. I still don't want the younger two in here yet. I haven't asked about the rules but I'm going with what the rules were when I was a kid and back then you had to be 13 to visit an ICU. I think they'll accept that.
She slept on and off all day but at least now I can tell when she's awake and when she's not. They propped her bed up for a while to see how she took it, and she let me feed her a little bit from her dinner. Her temper is also in good form because when I asked her to try to eat just a little bit more she told me to f@*k myself, and a little after that she told me to go home.
So, I'm home. I stayed until nine o'clock to make sure she was asleep and had gotten her pain meds, but I came home tonight. I think my youngest was disappointed and worried that Dack and Theresa were going home for good but once he was assured they were staying he seemed happy. I think I'll have my daughter sleeping with me tonight. As a rule we don't allow kids in our bed but I think I have to make an exception this time.
Tomorrow afternoon Char is having surgery to put rods in her leg, but I'm not clear on how many. Her leg is broken in two places. Midway on the femur and on the tibia (?) closer to the ankle. If she's up to it before then I'll let our son in to see her, but he's already been told that I'm the only one who gets to make that call and he could wind up in the waiting room with his grandfather instead. He accepts it because we've already established in the last couple of months that I'm the World's Meanest Dad.
All in all it was a better day even though she spent part of it crying. She snapped at me and later said she loved me, so to me that's a good day.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Yesterday was my wife's 39th birthday. Three days ago she was in a horrific car accident. As she drove through an intersection she was broadsided by a red light runner doing about 80 mph in a 35 mph zone. The only thing that probably saved her life was that she was hit on the passenger side. If she'd been hit driver's side, I can't even go there.
Her left leg is broken in two places, her arm is broken at the wrist, a rib is cracked, several fingers are broken, as well as her nose. Last night they removed her spleen and sometime this weekend they will probably operate on her leg. The miracle in all this is that she didn't wind up with a head injury. Her car had side impact air bags that probably saved her brain from being scrambled.
She's in ICU and will probably be here for a while. The first night she was listed as critical, but now the nurses are telling me she's stable. She'd be in a lot pain pain but they're keeping her heavily medicated, so I'm not 100% sure how much she's aware of, but when I talk to her and hold her right hand, she squeezes it if I ask her to. I'm told that's good. If she hears me and is aware enough to respond, then she's hanging in there no matter how much pain is seeping past the drugs.
Her father has spent most of his time here at the hospital with me, but he's gone home to spend the night with my kids. I know I have to go home to see them soon, but I can't bring myself to leave the hospital. Because what if? Yet I know my kids need to see me. They need to ask the questions they'll only ask me and they need to be able to break down with their father and not just Dack and Theresa, or even their grandfather.
A few days ago I did one of those Facebook memes and one of the question was "When was the last time you cried?" My answer was last year, when my father died. But right now I'm fighting them all the time, and it's so obvious that when I talked to my oldest son on the phone earlier he came right out and told me it was all right to cry.
He says he's keeping his brother and sister occupied and has told them their Mom will be all right but that it might take a while. That isn't his job, it's mine. Yet I still can't peel myself up to go home, because if I do and something happens to her, I don't think I could take it. They can't come here to see her yet. Eldest Son could take the sight of her like this but the younger two can't. She doesn't look like Mom and won't for a while.
When Eldest Son was just a baby, I was in the hospital for a couple of weeks. Toxic Shock. I don't know how she managed it but when I was awake she was there. She says she went home, but every memory I have is of her by my bed. When I couldn't eat, she fed me. When the skin was falling off the bottoms of my feet and I needed distraction from the pain she spent hours rubbing my back and my chest. She read to me until she was hoarse, and when I needed social contact she helped me use my laptop to connect with online friends and she typed for me.
She has been there in every one of my darkest moments guiding me through them, and she's the reason for every one of my brightest moments. If I leave here now it feels like betrayal. If I don't go home and be with our kids, it feels like betrayal.
All of that sounds selfish. But it's after midnight and I've been up for two days and since we just started this blog few people are ever going to see it, so I'm going to be selfish.
Someday she'll sift through the archives and see this. And when you do, Char, please don't be angry that I didn't do what I know you would want me to do. I know you would want me to head home and comfort the kids, but right now all I can do is sit here and watch you breathe, because every breath you take means that you'll probably take one more, and if I see the next breath then I can go on for another one, too. It doesn't have to make any sense. I'm sitting in the corner watching you sleep, and the only thing holding me together is watching you breathe.
Her left leg is broken in two places, her arm is broken at the wrist, a rib is cracked, several fingers are broken, as well as her nose. Last night they removed her spleen and sometime this weekend they will probably operate on her leg. The miracle in all this is that she didn't wind up with a head injury. Her car had side impact air bags that probably saved her brain from being scrambled.
She's in ICU and will probably be here for a while. The first night she was listed as critical, but now the nurses are telling me she's stable. She'd be in a lot pain pain but they're keeping her heavily medicated, so I'm not 100% sure how much she's aware of, but when I talk to her and hold her right hand, she squeezes it if I ask her to. I'm told that's good. If she hears me and is aware enough to respond, then she's hanging in there no matter how much pain is seeping past the drugs.
Her father has spent most of his time here at the hospital with me, but he's gone home to spend the night with my kids. I know I have to go home to see them soon, but I can't bring myself to leave the hospital. Because what if? Yet I know my kids need to see me. They need to ask the questions they'll only ask me and they need to be able to break down with their father and not just Dack and Theresa, or even their grandfather.
A few days ago I did one of those Facebook memes and one of the question was "When was the last time you cried?" My answer was last year, when my father died. But right now I'm fighting them all the time, and it's so obvious that when I talked to my oldest son on the phone earlier he came right out and told me it was all right to cry.
He says he's keeping his brother and sister occupied and has told them their Mom will be all right but that it might take a while. That isn't his job, it's mine. Yet I still can't peel myself up to go home, because if I do and something happens to her, I don't think I could take it. They can't come here to see her yet. Eldest Son could take the sight of her like this but the younger two can't. She doesn't look like Mom and won't for a while.
When Eldest Son was just a baby, I was in the hospital for a couple of weeks. Toxic Shock. I don't know how she managed it but when I was awake she was there. She says she went home, but every memory I have is of her by my bed. When I couldn't eat, she fed me. When the skin was falling off the bottoms of my feet and I needed distraction from the pain she spent hours rubbing my back and my chest. She read to me until she was hoarse, and when I needed social contact she helped me use my laptop to connect with online friends and she typed for me.
She has been there in every one of my darkest moments guiding me through them, and she's the reason for every one of my brightest moments. If I leave here now it feels like betrayal. If I don't go home and be with our kids, it feels like betrayal.
All of that sounds selfish. But it's after midnight and I've been up for two days and since we just started this blog few people are ever going to see it, so I'm going to be selfish.
Someday she'll sift through the archives and see this. And when you do, Char, please don't be angry that I didn't do what I know you would want me to do. I know you would want me to head home and comfort the kids, but right now all I can do is sit here and watch you breathe, because every breath you take means that you'll probably take one more, and if I see the next breath then I can go on for another one, too. It doesn't have to make any sense. I'm sitting in the corner watching you sleep, and the only thing holding me together is watching you breathe.
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