I was searching through my computer, looking for a random poem I remember saving a long time ago and I found this. I don't remember writing it and it wasn't dated, but I have a feeling I wrote it the night Dave was admitted to the hospital and I went home to sleep, gather some comfort items for him and check on the cats.
Seeing these words now, almost 3 years later, squeezes the air out of my lungs. It feels like some sort of cruel joke to hear myself (that old me) say things that hinted at the idea that Dave would survive long enough for me to work on my fears. I was trying so hard not to believe that he would die from this illness. Something in me, something deeper than my mind, was convinced he was dying.