The air is filled with loud bird-song. Slight breeze chills on a brisk dog walk this morning. My day ahead does not include seeing you, as no days apart from the Saturday do at them moment. But I hold out for the end of next week when you shall be discharged and I will be able to go back to seeing you on an almost daily basis.
You have been asking again recently when you are coming home. I use the same analogy each time. I get you to visualise yourself, younger, fitter, in the changing rooms before a big Rugby match. Talk you through it, ask what you would be feeling, what colour your shirt would be, anything to stimulate your memory and your senses. I explain that you've walked out onto the pitch, you need to get that ball to the other side for a touch down. You discuss with me what you might be thinking, how you are going to do it, I tell you you have just set off. then out of nowhere a couple of gigantic players from the opposition floor you. You hang on to the ball and strive with everything in you to get to the other side, that is where you are heading and you have to get there, but this obstacle has hindered you. You need to fight like hell to get up and get going again. I explain that this is about where you are at at the moment. You are on the pitch, you were floored by injury, but are coming out of that and starting to prepare yourself for the ultimate touch down. For getting home.
You relate well to this analogy and I use it each time now, hoping it will sink in.
I have spent several days now, heart racing in a positive vein. Blood pumping in the right direction.
And tonight, tired after a week of visitors, school commitments, friends of the kids here after school, kids waking too early and going to bed too late, my heart has dropped. That familiar ache. That hum of pain, increases to sears as I try and blank out my thoughts of you.
I miss you.
I am alone, again, on my own on yet another Friday night, with you in a different place, as is our life now.
Some days I hate it. Despise where life has left us.
But I cannot let that bitterness overtake.
I must keep strong…for you, for our babies.