This isn't him today, obviously, he's in our bed. He sleeps like a wounded deer, how could i not worry?
Sunday, August 4, 2013
sometimes on sunday afternoons when we’re taking a nap together on the couch, and my head is laying on mark’s chest, all i can hear is a loud thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump thump-thump and as i try to fall asleep i’m suddenly and scarily aware of all his parts and the blood pumping to his heart and irrational thoughts start to race through my sleepy brain - what if his heart stops working? or what if we move to Japan and there is a gigantic earthquake and we’re living in Tokyo and we’re not even together when it happens and we both die? What if Mark’s commuting home from work and he gets in a car accident on an overpass and his car flips over and i am at home watching the news wondering why he’s late and then i see a picture of an upside down car2go and i just know it’s him? that one especially makes no logical sense because we don’t even have any channels on our TV and literally never watch the news. Or what if we’re laying there taking a nap and suddenly I hear silence? What if i actually hear his last heart beat? I tell Mark I can hear his heart and tell him my fears in a rushed quiet voice on this late sunday afternoon and in his half asleep state he groggily replies ‘we’ll be together in heaven’, to which i respond ‘what if we can’t find each other in heaven’ and he says ‘we will’, but i remain doubtful. now i’m writing this and looking over at him wrapped in a quilt i made for him and my eyebrows are still furrowed with worry. but i know he is alive, i can see the blankets rising and falling and for now, I think i will go make him some supper and make it with lots of love.