I’m cozy and warm in bed on the other side of almost dying. My drug induced eyes fight to stay open. One eyelid slowly lifts. The second eye attempts… but no. I shut them and slowly turn my head. The light is too bright. Pure. Everywhere.
It was too close. I knew it. But I still didn’t know what happened.
Someone takes my hand and I immediately know it’s my husband. I feel it’s warmth. I feel it’s strength. I feel secure and wish I could move my heavy body to be near him. Instead I lay still, too exhausted to move.
I can tell this event has almost broken him when I hear his tender, “Hey.” Hope, fear, sadness, concern, panic, joy, gratefulness, amazement all wrapped up in one simple word.
The moment is pure emotion and soon my closed eyes are spilling tears. And I still didn’t know what happened.
“How’s the baby?” I ask and start fighting to open my eyes again.
“He’s doing great. He’s in the NICU.”
I let out a deep sigh. He’s okay.
“You’re so amazing. I love you so much.”
I don’t say anything. This tiniest of conversations has already worn me out. I don’t fight my eyes. I don’t fight my body. I drift off to sleep, but this time I don’t worry that I won’t wake up.