Nothing to tell me how very much alone I am like being sick.
I’m dying. I’m not really… but I feel like it.
It’s just a cold. I get that. But he’s always been here to take care of me when I’m sick.
I’m one of those fortunate people who only gets sick once or twice a year. I don’t have lingering all the time colds.
I get sick, bam! down for 3 days and pretty much useless for those 3 days.
Cold medications don’t help much. They deal with the sniffles and the cough, but my head is stuffed and my eyes are watery and my body is achy and I just want to curl up and disappear. I’m too hot with clothes on, too cold without, need a blanket to curl up under but hate how freaking sweaty I get when I’m under a blanket.
He took care of me. He would make sure that I had juice, that I had chicken soup, that I had everything I needed.
He took care of the house, the kids, everything. All I had to do is concentrate on getting better.
I can’t ask “George” to take care of me – we’re not in that space – we’re not *there* and I’m pretty sure he’d politely decline if I asked him to.
But he has an amazingly comfy couch. A quiet, peaceful home. A good place to hide and just *be*
I miss Mark… He gave me that in my own home… the quiet place to be. A place to just be taken care of. I need that right now. I need him.