You didn’t answer the phone this morning. You said you would at least text before the procedure. I imagine nurses keeping you so busy that you didn’t have a chance to reach out and say hello. 

You’ve been away since Monday for a procedure they said would only take a few hours. The dog and I have been trying to ignore the loneliness that is building, growing, beginning to gnaw. 

We talked last night. You sounded glad I had called, even after we had visited you earlier in the evening. I love the way you respond when you hear my voice. The happiness I hear lifts me from my normal deep broodiness. Every time. 

I have done pretty good so far, keeping the faith, being positive—all that. But I’m beginning to wear some around the edges. If this continues, and it is scheduled to do just that, I may not be in one piece by the time they have finished fixing you. 

You are my solace

and hope for my sanity—

amen and amen