It is very hard to believe that it was just a week ago today I was posting updates from the hospital waiting room as my husband went through surgery, it seems a lifetime ago.
We are not celebrating christmas in a traditional way this year, there are no presents or cookies, no tree or eggnog, no tinsel or wrapping paper. Yet, for me this will be one of the most joyful christmases ever.
I could so easily have lost the most important person in my life. Musicman is not only my husband, he is my best friend, he is my protector, my confidante, my lover. I have spent over half my life with him and fully intend to grow old with him. Now that he is home and improving daily I am sleeping better than I have for quite awhile. My thoughts are clearing some and I have realized just how close I came to not having him with me. I refuse to even consider what my life would be like without him, instead I am going to focus on all the small improvements he is making.
The first sight of him after surgery, laying in the bed in ICU, still unconscious, all the tubes, the worst of which was the ventilator. I thought I was prepared for that, I wasn't. Instead of that image I am going to focus on the insane thought of how happy I was that they didn't shave his beard. I love his beard, the way it feels on my freshly shaved lady parts is devine. The way it gets covered in my juices. I have learned to like the taste of myself on his beard. If I stop for just a second I remember what it feels like to feel the drops fall from his beard onto my body as he moves up to enter me. It's been a week and the hair on his neck that he usually keeps shaved has grown in, I'm looking forward to the day he is strong enough to shave as he has a particular spot on his neck where I love to snuggle and lick and plant little kisses.
Watching him for so many days laying in that hospital bed, too weak to get up on his own. I don't think I can even describe the way it felt the first time he stood on his own and I could look up at him again. It's the same feeling as when I am on my knees at his feet, his hand in my hair, tugging my head back so he can see my eyes as he comes on my face, oh yes, that's what it feels like. I want that again, and I will have it, in time.
So many nights, just wanting to crawl into that horrible little hospital bed with him, just to be close to him. It wasn't possible, I had to be content with sitting as close to the bed as I could and touching him. The first night home, he was settled in our big waterbed, I didn't know if I should try to lay down with him as he was in so much pain and I didn't want to make it worse. Even in a haze of pain and pain pills, he said, "come lay with me," the sweetest words I've ever heard. I can't yet lay on his chest with his arm around me, my place of ultimate peace, but I will again, in time. I will trace his scar with my tongue, I love the taste of his skin, I will follow that scar down his chest and continue on until I fill my mouth with him. If I stop for just a second I remember what it feels like to feel him pushing down my throat as he fucks my face just the way I like.
I have often told my husband living with him is like living with an octopus. He is all hands, constantly touching me, caressing me. A swat on my butt as I'm bent over the dishwasher, or a squeeze on my breast as I walk past him. I don't think I even realized how much I missed his touch, until he sat next to me on the lounge in our room yesterday and just caressed my leg, the gentle touch of his hand tracing the curve of my bottom as I bent over to retrieve something that had been dropped. This morning, him, sitting on the edge of our bed with his arms open, beckoning me to walk in to them. I have that again and don't have to wait. Those small gestures will hold me for a time while he recovers.
We may not be celebrating a traditional christmas, but we will rejoice in the small gestures that mean so much and hold the promise of more.