Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Sometimes at night when he falls asleep before me, I turn toward him and watch his outline against the shade-covered window.
I listen to him breathe calmly in and out. Steady. Unwavering.
Those moments calm me, and I soak them in.
I watch his chest move up and down, and I thank any and all of the powers that be that he is laying next to me, heart beating strong, body working perfectly.
I memorize those breaths, how they sound.
I take mind pictures of his profile, the way is forehead is relaxed, the proportions of his face.
I memorize these moments so I can remember and repeat them to myself.
You never stop being a (n almost) widow. I have habits, like this one, that are the result. I'm lucky and thankful to have him, and I pay more attention and log more memories. My past reminds me to live fully in these moments before they are just memories.