Why am I alive? I wake up to this question every single day. Today is no exception. I stir from my restive sleep and wake up feeling listless. I turn around and see my husband. I feel a flicker of happiness. I extend my palms to caress his face and watch him smile instinctively. I feel his smile mirrored on my face.
I watch his curly hair as unruly as ever and fight the urge to run my fingers through them. I stand by as a mute spectator as I soon lose that fight and find my fingers buried in his curls. I wonder whether he will wake up as I continue my exploration. He doesn’t.
I watch his rhythmic breathing and the tiny smile on his handsome face. I trace the lines around his eyes. Those lines that denote worry, laughter and life. I know that I am responsible for many of those lines.
He has been an ally in my daily struggle to stay alive. I continue my appraisal of him as I get reminded of all the times when he has brought me back from the brink of death.
I am reminded of the multitude of times he steadied me as my body was wracked with sobs of despair. I am reminded of the number of times that he has been my only voice of reason. I am reminded of the number of times that I stayed alive just because he exists. I am reminded every single day.
I move close to him and hold him. I feel his strong yet gentle hug. I feel his sleepy lips press against my neck and I am enveloped in his love.
I look up at him and his eyes are still closed. I wonder how he loves me so unconsciously. I wonder whether he knows what his actions mean to me. I wonder whether he feels my heart racing when I see him and hear his baritone voice. I stir in his arms and look up at him.
His eyelids flutter open and he clears his throat. He looks down at me and mumbles “I love you”. Then I know, this is probably why I’m still alive.