Bridgy, I want to tell you, you make everything better. You stand at the backdoor, waving me to me through the window pane as I drive away. You keep going.
Sometimes, when the trials of life swirl around me, and cut through me with a velocity matched only by my hope, I take you in my arms and I hold you to my cheek. And, I realize I’ve forgotten what a miracle you are.
And, Super Bridgy, those six days in the hospital, when we were waiting to find out about meningitis, I was stealing that time. Your sickness gave me an extra week with you before I had to return to work. And, in my heart, I knew you’d be OK. And, so I just laid there six days and six nights in the hospital waiting for your test results to come back. And, I studied your face – the one I’d drop off too soon at daycare. It numbed me, Bridgy. Leaving you every day in that godforsaken swing. Driving across the interstate, hoping to God some jerk didn’t mow me down on their race to get to work.
I’d walk into that purposeless job. There wasn’t an office fancy enough or a job lofty enough to convince me that leaving you was noble, right or prudent.