Yesterday

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.