The hospital bed moves all the time. It sounds a little like Darth Vader - heavy mechanical breathing - air forced in and out as the mattress inflates a little then deflates a little.
I got home from a long day at work. We went out for burgers, went to Target to get sheets for the new bed. The usual stuff, that day to day stuff you get done. Fun Saturday night stuff!
Got the bed made up, unloaded a few groceries. He settled in downstairs. I was upstairs. He got ready for bed. I fell asleep on the couch. More fun Saturday night stuff...
Waking up, I realized it was one of those days that slipped by. Work, shopping, making the bed. We hardly talked.
I hollered down stairs, was he ok? What did he need? Nothing. I told him I missed him. He said, come on downstairs.
I climbed in to that little twin bed that sounded like it had a life of it's own. There was room for us both. We snuggled for a while. His back, so bony. You touch his arms and they feel like baggies loosely filled with water. It made me sad for a moment: the fact we aren't together as much as I'd like, that I let a day slip by without making it special, that he was in this twin bed that sounds like he's in a hospital already.
I can't think of anything more to say here.
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