Me: "Who has the best seat in the house, me or daddy?"

Adam: "Well, Daddy's is nice, but yours is best. Your's is squishier."

Saturday, April 13, 2013



I haven't ventured out of the house since February without heading for a doctor's office, so last night after an appointment my sweetie took me to the Art Museum for a little while.  As he pushed me in the wheelchair through the galleries, I rested my head against his tummy.  At first I felt weird about being pushed in the chair, but it was clear in just a few minutes that we moved together the same as always, whether I was taking the steps or not.

The weeks of stress melted a little as we talked about the paintings.  When we moved to the pottery exhibit, we played our little game of "pick one", where we choose one thing in each room to pretend to take home.  He let his hand settle on my shoulders now and then, and as I reached up to take his hand I was reminded of our trip to the ER with him ten days before.

That afternoon as we got in the car, I sat in the back seat with my leg up while Bishop drove.  I felt so far away from Guy.  Each time he would ask a question about how he got home or if he had played the organ at church, only to be startled by answers he didn't remember, I wanted to hold him and comfort him.  All I could do is reach for his hand and hold it from the back seat.

"Do you remember the first time we ever held hands?"  I asked him, trying to take him someplace else.

"It was just like this." he said, and I felt such comfort that he could remember.

It had been a road trip.  We took a friend to college in Utah, a bunch of us.  By the end of the week, Guy and I were two planets in orbit around one another.  By the time the road took us back home, we were in the same orbit.  As the miles of highway rolled out before us, though Guy was driving and I was in the back seat, my hand rested on the armrest of his seat where his fingertips gently found mine.  Mile after mile we held hands in the dark, half listening to the conversations of the others in the car, entirely aware of each other.  We began falling in love.  It is one of my most cherished memories.

As we drove to the hospital, my heart pounded at the realization that now those precious memories I had with him were threatened, along with everything else we have built together.  When we left the house I had lied to the children that daddy simply wasn't feeling well and that I was taking him to the doctor, but Ethan knew the truth, and the fear I had seen in his eyes now had free range of my face with no one to notice.  My eyes filled with tears as I held onto Guy's fingers from the back seat.

Guy has been doing great since that day.  Thank you to all who have asked after him and extended help, not just for me, but for him.  He says he feels fine, but of course, he said that before this incident.  It has been hard to even think about what might have happened to him that day.  When I see him stressed or tired I do worry more than before.  I hope to return soon to being more of the wife he knows to take some of the weight of our lives back into proper balance.  I am so grateful for all of the help we have received and know we will need less and less in the coming days (I "made dinner" for the first time the other night, if dumping frozen chicken and coconut milk in a crock pot counts as cooking). I am getting around better, and even went to the doctor without the wheelchair yesterday. 
I know we will get there eventually.
Going to the museum, stepping out of stress and worry
 and back into something familiar for a little while, was so nice.
 And I am glad,
 Guy remembers.

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