This man was there. He was there in the doorway of our bathroom while I talked to a faceless doctor about what had happened. He was there as we rushed out our back door leaving a mess and our dogs for our friends to deal with. He was there at the one stop we made. Coffee and a bathroom break and a bag of cashews. He was there as we pulled up to the giant hospital with the polished floors. The endless elevators, the numbered doors and then, finally, her room. He was there as nurses and officials wandered in and out spewing words. He was there those long sleepless nights that stretched on and on. Styrofoam cups full of ice water and numbers on a screen. Uncomfortable chairs and machines beeping. He was there those early hours we sat cross legged on the hearth of a giant fireplace. Scrambled eggs and tears mixing as we tried to eat something. He was there as the sun broke that last morning. Impossibly beautiful and out of place. He was there after the machines stopped beeping when more officials came. He sat with me at a shiny table while a nice lady clicked through options. Options? His hand was in mine. He talked for me when I couldn’t and hugged me when I shattered. He was the best friend anybody could ever ask for and the only protector I needed. He was my husband. I thank God and will every day for the rest of time that it was him beside me. This man.