My heart thudded.
My lungs burned, but it was starting to settle into acceptance.
The reason I kept holding on…
“Come on, baby,” I spoke to the slow thumping pulse in her wrist. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”
I called her “baby” on purpose. Anything to make her mad and make her open her eyes, correcting me. That wasn’t the name I’d given her. She would hold her hand up like she was going to slap me if I kept doing it. I lifted her arm, and if I hadn’t been holding it, it would have fell. I fucking forced the realization of what it meant down, refusing my anger the right to take me from her—I could feel it building inside of me, the growling tide being held back by the shore.
The shore.
I brought up our time in Fiji, whispering about the things we’d done, what we were going to do next time. She had wanted to ride horses on the beach. Climb the mountains in a white Jeep with black rims. Zip line. Experience the thermal mud baths. Jump from the cave into the pool the waterfall fed.
All the things we couldn’t do the first time because of our?—
Leopoldo.
A pain in my chest almost took me completely under, and if it did, I would not rise to the surface, fighting. But that would only take me from her, so I kept talking to her, singing to her. I’d singto her, then stop, telling her I wouldn’t sing again if he didn’t look at me. I kept singing, though. Singing to her in a hushed tone when it was only the two of us.
All those old country songs she couldn’t get enough of.
I spoke to her about Wyoming. Reminding her of all the plans we had for the cabin.
“You never even fucking told me what colors you wanted to use to decorate.” I kissed her hand harder, breathing her in. She smelled of antiseptics and the cold reality of a fucking hospital.
Her apple scent…the word “missed” was a fucking lie. It hit me hard in the chest, just like the thought of our son did. I growled, shaking my head, getting myself under fucking control. I refused to lose it. Refused to let life steal my heart. She was fighting on her side. I was in a battle on my side.
I kept talking.
Singing.
Sitting with her in the silence, knowing we were both fighting our way back to each other. I’d close my eyes, squeeze her hand, and will it to be true.
Open your eyes, my wife.
Open your eyes, my life.
Fucking look at me! I’m starving for the connection. Your eyes on mine.
My life. My wife. My breath. My healing.
The sound of the voice inside of my head was manic, panicked, pleading—my heart roaring out in pain. Roaring so loud, there was no fucking way she wouldn’t hear me. Hear me and find her way back to me.
“Ah,” I said, shaking my head, loosening the emotions stuck in my throat. “I’m getting impatient, baby. So fucking impatient. I’m coming for you if you can’t find me. Do you hear me? I’m coming for you no matter what it takes. Call me fucking crazy—you would—but I am. I’m crazy enough to fucking find you. I’ll always find you. In this life. In the next.
“I’ll let you know when I’m coming, though, you hear me? Yeah, you fucking do. You hear me. You know. I’ll let you know when I’m coming, so you can stay put. You’ll be there. I’ll find you.” I kissed her hand over and over, setting it against my forehead after, closing my eyes, breathing her in. Taking comfort in the slight beat of her pulse.
She was cold.
Too fucking cold.
It brought back memories of when I hauled her out of the water. Her lips were blue, her face a similar color, her entire body seized and?—
I fucking cut the thoughts off.
Back to the living.
My wife.
