sunsets and babies

I did finally meet with my primary care physician, who is just as lovely and wonderful as everyone had told me she would be. Maybe finally I will have a somewhat continuous and happy proper relationship with my doctor. An interesting development to be sure. The doctor checked me out, and reminding me that 'this happened so recently,' gave me a strong head nod at my pulmonary sounds and my cardiovascular system. Very strong. It's probably one of the things that brought me back.

Each day I feel a little stronger, and I am circling closer each moment - centering back to me, my old self, if it exists anymore. I keep waiting for a dramatic change, an awakening, or a clearing of life cobwebs, or some paradigm shift. It has yet to annouce itself, if it is coming. I feel slight changes, small things that peek out a few times a day to remind me that I came very close to staying dead. And tears come too, but I can't even process what I am crying about. Sometimes it is when Trent retells the story, or when he holds my hand at sunset and I know he is overwhelmed that he can watch another day end next to me, when I see a friend and feel unmistakenly thrilled to be listening to their stories, their lives, or when I hold Trent's new nephew - a beautiful reminder of the fragility and tenderness of life. This emotional reservoir has encased me, and I am not even going to try to sort it out yet.