Although the cardiologist turned him loose at 8:30 a.m., and the nephrologist followed suit shortly before lunch, it was nearly 3 p.m. when the Mister and I pulled into our driveway yesterday afternoon.
Approaching our house, I noticed that our mailbox didn't look right. My eyesight isn't what it once was, and all I could see in the distance was that there was something big on the mailbox.
As we got closer, I let out one of my signature, "awwwww!" noises, usually prompted by something that moves my heart.
For there on our mailbox was a huge white posterboard sign on our mailbox to welcome him home, complete with balloons and ribbons. The Mister turned and thanked me, saying, "you didn't have to do that, sweetie".
Aghast and amused, I said, "don't worry, I didn't!"
I am a little annoyed that I didn't think of it myself, but I am eternally grateful to the person who did.
So, to the anonymous do-gooder who made the Mister's homecoming that much more special - we love you and thank you.
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He is home. HOME. You just don't know how much you miss it until you can't go there. It's one thing to electively vacate, say to the beach or on a business trip, but to be restricted by health is altogether different.
Not sure much has changed in the nine days since he went to the ER, but he was elated to climb the stairs, survey the messy living room and crawl between his own sheets with Olivia (his body pillow - yes, we name our pillows. Like you don't.)
He is a tad weak and tires easily; but he is HOME.
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