Silent walks

I found a penny yesterday outside the coffee shop where I stop on special mornings for a good coffee and a cheese scone, or sometimes a muffin. I picked it up of course, thinking to myself, “Interesting, I haven’t found a penny in so long. I wonder why now?” That thought overshadowed by a sense of foreboding, because you see, I found a penny the day before yesterday as well, embedded in the gravel of my own driveway. I must have walked over it a thousand times. But the day before yesterday I saw it clear as day, and it begged to be picked up. So I picked that one up too. Two pennies in two days. Very unusual. I tried to convince myself there was just a lot of good luck headed my way, but I worried more that I would need that luck.

And so last night I lay awake watching the minutes tick by in the green glow of the bedside alarm clock thinking about those pennies. Thinking about how much good fortune we've had and how thankful I am for everything. Listening carefully to the laboured breathing of David, beside me. Resisting the urge to leave and go to another room to sleep to avoid the horrible sound of his lungs crackling and popping and his frequent cries into the silence of the night. In pain, or in fear I’m not sure. I decided not to disturb him to find out, because he was sleeping, and sleep is good, I think. I tossed and turned for hours, often spending time laying on my back my hand placed lightly on my stomach feeling the little bump bumps of the tiny life inside me. The life David and I saw hours earlier on the ultrasound screen. In the midst of doctors calling and prescriptions and chest x-rays for David – our 20 week ultrasound. I’m pregnant. It’s real. And last night, the first night that I didn’t worry about that tiny life.

As you may guess, David is struggling. Yesterday he went to the doctor with a horrible cough, shortness of breath and crackling lungs and now he is being treated for pneumonia. We’re both scared. Actually I’m terrified – but I’m not sure I have time to be. I’ve quickly transitioned back into caregiver and I have a feeling that the harder I try to keep things in order the less grip I have on life. Like building a sand castle with dry sand. The more I try to squeeze the sand in my palm to mould it into a castle, a home, a life the more it slips through my fingers. Right now I just miss my best friend. I want him to be better. I want him to smile. I want to go for a walk in the forest after work with him and Leuk. Meandering slowly through the trees, sometimes not even talking. Stopping to look at the moss or the leaves of a plant, just enjoying each other’s silent company and the fresh air. I want to see him attached to the computer staring at his research graphs for hours. I want him to be able to walk without running out of breath. I want him to be normal. I want to see him without suffering.

When I woke up late for work this morning, I pulled both pennies out from my pockets of the jeans laying askew on the floor and placed them in the bathroom on the shelf. I’m waiting for the luck to arrive anytime now.