Perspective

The boys were already fast asleep when I tripped outside. Shivering I found the same red car on the same spot near the pavement where I entered it with Kenji last Thursday night. "If we drive you to the hospital, we also take you home", my friend joked. She handed me his bag, another bag with medications and the bill - the standard combination upon discharge these days.

We sat on the couch and I couldn't take my eyes off him.

A full week in the hospital, with a disastrous interval, has left us shattered. "I am still here", Kenji mumbled. Those words were again so well put and had such an impact on me. I wanted to stroke his hand, but Kenji pulled back in pain: the several vain attempts to draw blood had left his hand bruised. Part of him was sitting next to me, but the greater part was sort of still in the hospital bed.

A revised medicine cocktail should do the trick for at least a week - however after everything that has happened, it is not self-evident to lay back and relax. To fully trust that we are given a new perspective, an opening where the clear blue sky is showing through.
Our heart rate will need to slow down over time and then our breath will come along.