I open my eyes this morning and I remember immediately how dramatically my life has changed.
But I don't see my cane first thing this time. I don't see the walker. I'm facing the other way, as we sometimes do.
I see the woman of almost thirty years who has been through more than any person I have ever known. And she has never complained. She may be the sanest and strongest person I've ever met, which makes her a perfect match for silencing my multitude of demons.
Waking up first, I see her also facing away on her side. I run my hand silently down her hip and pretend I don't know it will wake her. She wakes up and silently pretends with me.
You can keep falling in love.
All our new niceties and master levels of patience are practiced on each other. We don't know what we are doing, but we'll keep trying to figure it out. We'll become stronger. More patient. Weirder.
Our game plan was recently upgraded from the boilerplate "in sickness and health" to full on running around with our asses on fire to finally at least displaying some similitude of hope and kindness in the onslaught of this rapidly unfolding hell.
With my cognitive changes, I struggle sometimes to focus on what is real and important. That includes remembering that I am not going through this alone, but that I have many friends who are supporting me.
Every morning I remember.
My greatest support is not framed metal. It is a woman's strong, unwavering hand and heart.
I could not ask for a truer soul than her on this darkest, sharpest turn in the road yet.