Be Careful

I wonder how often we have this 'discussion'? How many times have I, so far, enjoined you to 'Be careful'?

I tell you when you go to work, when I leave for work, when you go out to cut the grass, when you head out hunting, when you take your daily walk.

I think, truly, perhaps the only time I don't warn you to avoid the perils of daily existence is when you take refuge in the bathroom or go to sleep.

As I type this I fight the urge to research the amount of accidents in a bathroom (I suspect they are Legion), and the number of mishaps while sleeping. I may need to rethink this...

Do you know why I say this? Why it is a reflex for me?

Because you are my heart out there just walking around in the presence of malevolence and hazards. You are my hopes, my dreams, my illusions of security.

You are my warmth and reassurance glowing against my skin at night, and the smile that crinkles the sleep from my eyes in the morning.

You are my second-thoughts, my thesaurus, my index to nature, my travel guide to birds, my portal into self discovery.

I live the risks-not-taken through you, the unwise choices, the blinding clarity of brave restarting, the belief-with-a-handshake- and the rules about golf that I simply blindly believe because: golf.

You are my what's-that-tree, my is-that-a-bad-dashboard-light, and would-you-like-ice-cream tonight? You are Salad Wednesdays that are usually chicken fingers, my aficionado of Whomp It Up Sauce, and the Remover of Mice.

You fish and hunt, are allergic to cats yet can be seen cuddling our feral duo as they 'help' you putter through chores, rubbing their bellies and tickling their ears as they close their eyes with bliss.

Miraculously, you have stayed. Endured. Remain. You, alone, have remained as pieces of my heart break off over time and either crumble, turn to dust, or freeze solid. You are here.

How, then, can I possibly not caution you when we will be apart? When you get a joint replaced, when things are threaded through your body with tiny cameras and sharp sharp blades, balloons and- Hell- I don't know what-all: how can I not hold my breath lightly as my mind and soul yearn to snatch you away and... and yet.

And yet, I sit there and wait until you are in 'prep' before I take refuge in the sanctity of a restroom stall so I can cry and gasp as the fear of losing you washes over me in waves.

"This is a good thing that is happening, these are good and smart people doing what they do best, he is a smart and confident man that won't take unneeded risks. Everything will be all right."

Everything will be all right. All Right. Alright. Alrighty then.

Tell it to me again. Will you tell me the Things again? Those things. That you aren't going anywhere. That everything is gonna be just fine.

Whisper those promises to me, I am strong but not enough to move past the need of those words.

I watched the monitor as you sleep, did you know that? I watched it as I rested my hand on yours. Saw your heartbeat. Watched your pulse. Had the machines pulsing out reassurance that this was just a nap, that all was well.

Someday. Someday it won't be. Someday those machines will still for one or both of us. I know you will say that things will still be fine , then. Things will go on. I'm sure you're right.

But, for now, please be careful.