The countdown begins.

Sometime 72 hours from now I’ll be waiting….I’ll be hoping. I’ll be a myriad of emotions till I see him open his eyes again. The countdown has begun, like this inevitable end to what we know and into what we don’t. James anxiety is merciless. Every hour, all day and night I can see the uncertainty on his face.

James is a planner, after all. He can’t plan this journey. The idea that he may not come out of this alive tortures his every waking thought. I can’t help him. My words are just words, I know that. I wish there was a way for me to see forward, show him some sorta glimpse into next week.. “look babe we are back home, you did it! I told you so!” But I can’t. All I can do is have faith, hope and love for this man. I hold those things tightly, everyday.

I do my very best to reassure James these last few days, when he doubts and I hold him when he needs me to. Sometimes I look away, he’s a man, still. Big tough guys aren’t supposed to be terrified. He says he feels like a big puss. I look away, sometimes he needs me to look away in order to feel as tho he’s being strong and hiding these fears from me. I look away because I know his every thought (for the most part) I have to look away until he says babe, can you tell I’m freaking out? Depending on the situation I’ll answer with “are ya?” Or “yes babe how can I help?” While there’s nothing I can really do or say right now to take these fears away from him, all I can do is hope that my words, presence and affection offers some sort of comfort to him right now.

The days keep passing faster and the nights go in the blink of an eye. I can only wish this is how the recovery will be, quick and we will be on the other side of pain in no time.

I love you James, everyday, every way.