Between the breaths
“Regardless, step back and appreciate how lovely the little things were.”
― Dominic Riccitello
A tiny amount of early morning light—some from fading stars—lights my husband’s face. The glow traces his eyes, his nose, and I watch for the rise and fall of his chest. There. He’s there. Still with me.
So much is different now. What used to be a shared adventure is now a series of surrenders. Is that the right word? Surrender? Perhaps I should say we are in a place of constant adaptation. There is loss, yes. Words, for instance, come slowly to a conversation, if at all. But there are many ways to communicate. Our decades together give us some small shortcuts via body language, touch, and determined repetition. (Did he not hear me, or can he not remember?)
I don’t know how long I’ve been watching when he senses me. His eyes become silvery slits in a landscape of shadows. His chest rises and falls. He wakes enough to smile and then falls back into sleep…that space where he is still entirely himself.
❤️❤️