Sickly Rememberings

I don't even have a shred of a voice left. It's gone. It's a croak. My chest hurts. My head hurts. My nose doesn't work. This cold is kicking my butt.

I am trying so hard to stay positive about the walk. I have been waiting for it for so long, putting so much effort into it. I don't want to feel like crap on Sunday.

My sweet Mom brought me chicken noodle soup and my kitties are snuggling me.

I can't even think straight enough to write coherently tonight. All I know is that I miss Rick more when I'm sick. It feels extra lonely to be sick all by yourself. All I can think about is how he took such good care of me all the time, anticipating needs before they became needs.

I remember one time when Rick and I both had the dreaded Norovirus. We were both violently ill and could barely even watch TV because we were so weak... and he still went out to the store to buy ME Gatorade to replenish my electrolytes. While we suffered together at home, Rick every bit as sick as I was, he even stood in the kitchen and made me broth.

You just don't find people like that every day.

When I tell stories about him like this, it still feels as though I'm talking about someone who "will be back" in some way. It doesn't feel like I'm talking about someone dead. I don't know if that's good or bad or just weird. I'm sitting here in my living room, covered in cats and used tissues, tears streaming out of my sore eyes, and I want to be like, "OMG, Rick, remember back in 2009 when we both had the Norovirus?!" But I can't. I can only tell the blog.

I get such a hollow feeling when I realize I can never laugh with Rick again.

Crying is definitely no good for a stuffed up, scratchy, sick woman. I'm usually so full of energy, so I despise being sick. It kills my positive mood faster than anything else.

Tonight's agenda:

• stop crying
• eat more soup
• drink more tea
• drink more tea
• drink more tea
• take Nyquil
• sleep

And for self-care purposes, tomorrow's looking like more of the same.