I am feeling better.
It's amazing what a distraction like accompanying your BFF to the Emergency Room can do for a person's spinning head. The fact that he wanted me with him (even though he wouldn't ask for fear of inconveniencing me) was indicative of the importance we play in each other's lives. I personally had no such compunction about calling him in the middle of the night when I cut my face and said, simply, "I need you".
And he was right there.
On the way to the hospital, I brought up a particularly weird topic for us...what to tell the hospital staff when they asked our relationship. Because I'm familiar with the basic ins and outs of HIPAA laws, I knew they wouldn't let me be with him, advocate for him, talk the doctors on his behalf, unless we were related by blood...or by marriage. So I said to him, "Um...so...yeah, maybe we ought to tell them I'm your wife. They won't ask for proof but they will ask our relationship." We hadn't decided what we'd do one way or another by the time we got there but, just as expected, the registration clerk asked if I was his wife and it wouldn't have mattered if we'd agreed to lie or not. We looked at each other and cracked up laughing. And then I said, "We call each other non-spouses." She said, "I'll mark significant other. Does that work?"
Heh. Yeah. I suppose that works. No need to even begin to try to explain. I don't think they'd understand our particular interpretation of BFF anyway.
So yeah. Better. Both of us. He's still in pain but floating on the good stuff and I'm, well, I'm just better. These spin cycles don't tend to last long...a couple of days tops...and now I am just steeling myself to survey the damage and then straighten up the overturned vases, sweep the broken bits under the rug, and smile, hug, laugh, bake, and write until the next one hits whenever it hits. (please don't let it hit)
TC told me, "You know, everyone has bad days. Everyone snaps occasionally. Everyone makes mistakes. You are allowed to have a bad day. It doesn't make you a horrible person. It doesn't mean anyone is going to stop loving you just because you may have made a mistake. There are way too many of us who love you for your self-imposed status as Bad Person to ring true no matter how many mistakes you make."
And he's right. I know he's right.
The comments, private messages, texts, and the love that came in from last night's post are a testament to that very fact. Love is messy. It's covered in pigeon feathers, muddy cleats, late nights, sore feet, hot days in the sun, arguments, short words, grief, sometimes resentment, and shouts to LOVE IT OUT.
We think love is poetry.
But what it really is? Is, occasionally very clumsily written, prose.