I’m in the hospital waiting room, listening for my phone to chime with news that my husband’s surgery is over. Although 90% of my thought energy goes to him, you should know that you are still never far away. I sometimes feel you near me when I’m going through things like this and I’m not sure whether I find it comforting, distracting, or disconcerting. Probably a little of each.

Exactly WHY I feel your presence is still a mystery.  I think there are those who would say that this is part of a divine plan and that you are somehow being sent from “above” to comfort me. I don’t think I agree with that.  I think that everytime I go through an experience, whether it is good or bad, my thoughts go through a sort of filter, constructed of all the past emotional events and the accompanying drama and trauma.  You certainly are part of that filter.  If I were digging deeper into the way I think, I would also find that this filter includes the death of my father, my mother’s remarriage, the birth of my brothers, the death of my Grandma Nylund, my first marriage and divorce, the birth of my own children, and of course your suicide. 

And all the things in between.  ALL the things. Relationships. Jobs. Friendships. Family. Vacations. Sports. Faith. Music. Finances. And many other nouns that escape my thoughts at the moment. I am 58 now. There are a lot of other nouns.

But the focus of today is supposed to be on my husband. He’s the one that had surgery.  So why am I thinking about you? I find myself wondering what would have happened if you were in the hospital instead of him.  You had no insurance so this would have been financially devastating to you and by extension, to me. We would have been paying for your surgery for the rest of our lives. 

OK…I’m done now. I don’t need you to help me today. I’ve got this.