Sunday, July 7, 2013
My (birthday) wish.
As I opened my eyes, you were my first thought. I strained my ears hoping to hear the tv and be comforted that you were there watching the early morning news. For a few minutes, I let thoughts of you washed over me. I got out of bed, went into the kitchen and made coffee through sleepy eyes. How I wished you were there, sitting in your recliner, bright eyed without coffee waiting for me to make you one.
I then remembered it was Sunday. I loved Sundays with you. After getting your cup of coffee, you would go out to get your Sunday paper while I prepare your favorite breakfast of bacon and egg and toast. We always spent Sunday mornings poring over every bit of news around the state as you buy each Sunday paper in the store. Then in the afternoon we drive around the countryside.
I shuffled about the day, doing Sunday things - cleaning, doing laundry, weeding the garden and all the while wished I knew exactly what you were doing that very moment. Did the nurse came to your room to move you in bed? Are you awake and watching tv? Did your temperature went down because I knew it was running again last night. Are you still having pain or needing ice to moist your lips? I wished you remembered to pray.
A little while later, I sat down to watch T.V. I looked at the shows that were stored in your DVR and clicked M*A*S*H. An old episode came on that we used to laugh about and I wished you were here to laugh with me. I loved those moments as laughter was such a part of us. Now, it seems I don't laugh nearly as often, nor as hard. I wish to hear your voice again.
I had a few mouthfuls at lunch. I simply wanted to get through the whole meal as I had moments of missing you so badly, that I couldn't possibly eat anymore. Remember that time you cooked me duck for supper, even though you rarely cook? You were so impressed with yourself as you dished it out. You had every right to be as it was fantastic! Now, I just skipped supper since you were in the hospital- for over three weeks!
Evenings are never easy. There's hardly any light in the living room since you were gone because I don't like to watch tv there all by myself. I wish you were here so we can both watch our favorite shows like we used to.
Instead, I am sitting in front of my computer typing this.
I wish I wasn't.
I wish you aren't sick.
I wish you could come home soon, Ken.