These Precious Things Remind Me of You

I mentioned in an earlier post how Yukon and I had engaged in a discussion the very day of his accident. Our commitment to "powering down" a hectic lifestyle in order to spend more time with each other smacked us right upside the elbow that day, and we agree the timing, at least, could not have been better.

The weeks leading up to Yukon's crash were full. Overflowing full, with meetings and deadlines and tearful, late nights when neither of us could sit down and eat a meal together (something we previously did 6 of 7 days). For a family who thrives on traditional togetherness, we were faltering badly and didn't even make time to notice that. Date night? What's that?

Even when, post-surgery, Yukon was struggling to stand upright and figure out the depths of his oxycontin-fogged brain, we still didn't get it. I had deadlines to meet. He still had session work at church. Bear still had to be picked up and dropped off and the dog still needed to be walked.

Until last Friday.

Sometimes things become crystal clear in a moment; for us, it was the long, painful look that passed between us when the ER doctor came into the room and informed Yukon that he did, indeed, have clots floating around within his lungs. At that moment, just about every ounce of air left mine, and time stopped as two pairs of eyes, one terrified and one anguished, looked at each other.

At that very second, our lives changed.

What do you say, then? I'm sorry? I love you? Don't you dare leave me? All that and more came rushing out of my mouth as I struggled to maintain a confidence I didn't at all feel. Looking into eyes that have calmed me, excited me, and led me patiently through valleys of darkness, I tried desperately to comfort, knowing these next few hours would mean the difference between what is and what could have been.

We were lucky; Yukon made it to the hospital in time (ahem, thank the wife's intuition for that one), he received mega-doses of blood thinners, and was released Sunday afternoon. With Bear away at a friend's house, we had time to settle back into what we hope will be a manageable New Normal. With his elbow pain (Remember that? He broke an elbow) now under control and a new splint on board, Yukon decided he could manage to sleep in our bed for the first time in almost two weeks.

The most beautiful sound in the world was listening to Yukon breathe. In, out, in, out, with none of the gasps heard during previous days. I awoke early to him smiling at me.

"I listened to you breathe all night," he said.

"It was great."