And still there is patience in my heart. According to the doctor, I have two days left. There might be three, there might be five... It doesn't matter. And as much as I want to see this baby, my heart yearns for the closeness of my husband, this man I have spent the past three years with, who has been a joy and a blessing to my life. We have two days or three or five of being alone... I will never forget the time we had for ourselves, growing near and even more in love, building up memories, making traditions, learning each other, serving together, growing spiritually and shaping our rough edges to please one another, listening to our heart beats making a new song that no one else could hear. I will never forget our evening entertainment parties, when he'd walk in the bedroom, putting a zombie face on, saying: "I am so tired", and falling face down on our bed like a three trunk, inflexible and hard. Sometimes he'd burst out laughing because I was laughing already and he'd have to go back and repeat all the moves till it would come out right. How fond I am of our singing conversations, loud, very loud, from the top of our lungs! How lovely were our dinners every evening when he'd share all kind of funny stories from work; our Saturdays Starbucks caramel macchiatto rituals; our winter evenings pomegranate feasts; our Friday evenings dates; our worship matters talks or him practicing his messages with one listener first (me!); his shoulder right there to lean my head on when I was missing my family... I look at it as undivided attention, a time of bonding that was so treasured and sweet!
Some of these things will stay and some of them will be memories. But we will have a chance to see new faces of ourselves through new joys and new challenges. And these left over two days or three or five I will just cuddle up close to his heart, expecting together to see God's miracle of summing the two of us in one.