Your heart belongs to me, or at least that's what you've said time and time again. And so, when you turned it over to the surgeons today, it felt like a part of me was pulled away. All day I sat in different spaces with the same feeling, willing myself to be distracted by conversation while secretly my mind struggled to remind me to breathe. I caught tears at the back of my eyes and sobs in my throat, tucking them away from the strangers around me.
I was patient through the hours, feeding on each report the nurse brought me but never feeling full, knowing I'd be hungry until I could feast my eyes on you again. As the clock ticked on I became restless, pacing the hallway at the hour I knew you should be done. I caught sight of your head as they wheeled you into the ICU and my breath quickened and I was revived.
The surgeon came to talk of aortas and grafts, walk me through the mending of the heart I own, drawing pictures with hands that performed amazing feats today, hands that have given you more of a life than you had this morning.
In the ICU my own inferior hands found your skin, touched you so that my mind could believe what my eyes were seeing - the man I love, safe and sound.
Miracles were wrought for you today, miracles of God and science. Care for this heart that you are housing for me as it heals that I may not have to watch it wheeled away from me again.
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