I miss you...

Dear Charming, 

I don't think I can put it any more plainly than that. I just miss you. I miss us. 

Today, I was only able to spend a half an hour with you. The entire time, you tried to push me away and out the door. I read somewhere that patients with brain injuries only have a superficial awareness of their injuries, and don't realize how bad it really is. All you know right now is that I'm not there now. I want you to know that I tried. I tried so hard. Every second I spend away from you kills me. The fact that you are more cooperative with me not there just eats away at my soul. I want to be there with, I wish you'd let me be. I know that your memory of this phase will probably be minimal. For that, I am thankful. 

I wish that you understood that your time in rehab is out of my hands. With the severity of your brain injury, they won't send you home without doctor consent. They can't legally send you home until the doctor deems it safe, because you could hurt yourself. My hands are severely tied. You told me today that the old me would have been in there fighting to get you out of there. Please understand that I AM fighting for you. Every breath I have taken in the last six weeks has been for you. For us. You are my everything. My entire world. It is painful that you don't yet realize how bad your injuries were. That you don't realize just how close I am came to losing you, losing the love of my life, my soul mate. What you and I have is so special. Our connection to one another, unlike anything I've ever seen. You don't how scared I was or the countless hours I spent at your bedside talking to you. When I ran out of things to say, I would read to you. Peaceful Warrior. When you were in your coma, I thought to myself that if you were able to hear me reading to you, that's the story you'd want to hear. Sometimes I would sing to you. You always wanted me to sing to you... but I was always afraid. Now here I was, my head on your chest, my fingers laced in yours and I was singing. Scared out of my mind that you would never come back to me. Every breath I take, I am fighting for you. When I was told you would never come back to me, I fought for you. I fought for us. My belief in you and in our love was the only thing that kept me going. Please don't think I am not on your side, or that I'm not in there fighting for you. Someday I hope you realize just how hard I am fighting. Fighting for you. Fighting for us. Trying to keep it together for the sake our kids. Failing miserably at not falling apart in front of them. Fighting to keep my sanity in tact, because without you at my side I am so lost. 

The Nurse's Aid in ICU told me  the day that you were transferred out of ICU and onto the regular trauma floor "someday he's going to be SO proud of you and how strong you were." I told her that I hoped so, and hoped that someday that you would thank me for believing in our love even when things looked so grim. She told me you would. "But not today," I smiled, trying to be upbeat. She said, "no, you are a long way off from that." 

I cried today. Not a real shocker. I cry every day. When we lost Niles I remember thinking it would be a relief when I could get through a day without crying. I have cried every day for the last six weeks. For the first three weeks, you were in ICU. It's hard to imagine that double that time has now passed. When you were in ICU, I did my best not to cry in front of you. Unsure of how much you could hear and feel, I tried to be positive. This is why I read and sang to you, I found that when I just tried to talk you that I would break down and cry uncontrollably. In the two days a week I spent alone at home with the kids, I tried not to cry in front of them, either. I failed there, too. I don't think it was a secret to anyone that I was falling apart inside. 

Three weeks to the day after the accident, you were transferred to the regular trauma unit. You were no longer in "critical condition." You still slept 80% of the time, but getting out of ICU had been a huge victory. You were in a regular room now, you had a bathroom of your own. Because there was a shower in your room, I no longer needed to go home to shower. I was brought a chair that pulled out into a flat bed. I no longer had to sleep in a chair in the corner of your ICU room. I was no longer kicked out during nurse shift changes. In short, I could spend all my time with you. Even though when you were awake, you thought you were at home and you kept me up all night talking and calling for Skyler, I was thrilled that I could spend most of my time with you. I "celebrated" this little victory by getting myself some nasty cafeteria mac and cheese and a piece of chocolate pie. I walked down to the corner where there was a Dollar General and bought myself some soap, shampoo and a towel. I was prepared to be there for the duration. I would video chat with the kids and that kept me in contact with them. You'd hear their voices and then get mad that they weren't there when you called for them. One night you were so sure my mom was there and were so mad that she wouldn't come over to the bed and talk to you later that night. You'd tell me the dog was barking in the hallway. It was a scary time, I was finally understanding just how bad the damage to your brain was. I could only pray that you would continue to improve and not plateau. 

Then there were moments when you were so sweet. The very last night that we spent at Lakeland Regional was Mom's birthday. I had spent the morning with my parents and the kids and had gone to get you some veggie nuggets. I had promised you something special. When I got in you were in a good mood. You'd still get upset when you'd ask for your razor and I didn't understand why I kept telling you it wasn't there. Still, when I looked at you, I could feel YOU, the essence of you, looking back at me. I went down to the cafeteria and microwaved our nuggets. And we sat in bed, listening to music. You mouthed the words to some of our favorite songs. We watched The Big Bang Theory. You made polite conversation with the nurse. We snuggled for a long time, just holding onto each other. "This is nice," I mumbled into your chest. "Nice?" you scoffed. "You don't even know. Nice doesn't even cover it. This is... sustaining. It's replenishing." I was in heaven. You would ask me occasionally to look up things that didn't exist on YouTube "look up New England Patriots Yankee Pot Roast" you'd say. Heaven help me, I would actually try to look it up for you. Still, you were in a good mood and we were holding onto each other. I was in heaven. 

Halloween I got the call that you being moved to rehab in Winter Haven. I was overjoyed!! We were moving to rehab!! Dr. Benjamin came in to check on you. He was the same doctor who had told me that you were in a vegetative state and that I needed to think about what I wanted to do: Pull the plug or look for nursing homes for you. I gave him a smug, victorious little smile. You told me the other day that you need a victory, what you don't realize is that every day you are here to fight IS a victory. A bigger victory than you know. 

You started getting restless, demanding to go home before transport came to get you. It was a sign of things to come. When we got to rehab my world was flipped upside down again. No television, because they wanted your brain to get as much rest as possible and the stimulation would be too much. The lights would be off. There would be a 24 hour sitter watching your every move. I could feel the panic attack come on, my throat began to close. "Are you ok? You seem frustrated," you asked. I explained that I was just upset that you were hurt and I didn't like seeing you in a hospital bed. You continued to demand to go home, getting more and more agitated by the moment. I was told that if you continued to persist with demanding to go home that they would ask me to leave, so that you could get some rest. At the elevator, Mom asked me if I was ok. I fell apart, nearly collapsing. In fourteen years, we had not spent a night a part before your accident. In the 4 weeks that you were at Lakeland Regional, I had spent a night home here and there for the sake of our kids, but I never stayed gone for more than one night, refusing to miss more than one nurse shift change. I'd go home, eat, take a shower, watch a movie with the kids and then I'd be back bright and early the next day. I refused to be gone one second longer than I had to be. Now they were telling me that they didn't think that it was a good idea that I stayed. Your time in rehab was necessary, there was nothing I could do to change that. I couldn't bear it. I felt sick. I felt worse than sick. I felt like my soul was being ripped from my body. My only solace was that you wouldn't be there long. My only thought and my only focus now is getting you better so that I never have to let go of you again. I never want to sleep without you next to me again. So here's to a lifetime of never having to spend the night apart again. 

I love you 

Snow