Come Back to Me

This is my plea... this is my message. Partially so I remember, and partially so I can try to forget if just for a while.

Mike,

It is 5:30 in the morning. I have been awake for a few hours now. Tried working and actually got a few hundred words written. Called the hospital.

They say you have a fever now. Ranging from 99.8 to 101.3 at any given time. The cultures won't be back for three days. Apparently, that is how long it takes to grow a culture. I have been told your urine is milky and cloudy; your blood isn't the right color.

I asked about the sedation, and they changed the sedation for something more "long term". So I sit here... thinking of how shitty my holiday season's have always been. You wonder why I hate the holidays? Something always happens.

I am so hurt, angry, and lonely. So very lonely. I need you here with me. Above everything I feel, I love you tremendously. More than life itself. Our song by Rascal Flatts comes to mind. I need you to find your way back home. We have too much life left to live together.

Instead of the negative... I am choosing to stay positive and pass on those positive energies your way. I have prayed, I have begged, I have cried. The numbness is all I feel now. One minute cleaning frantically until my fingers bleed, the next on the floor in a ball crying with a dog licking my face trying to get me to stop crying.

We have had our problems. But I would choose those problems with you in my life rather than not to have those problems without you. I cannot understand why you made this choice. But what I have to believe is that the pain and the suffering was too much to bear anymore.

Hey, I even looked up on chakras and passing energies to a sick person. I tried it, and I want to believe I am in some way helping, but at this point, life seems hopeless. As I log into gmail to check my email, I see that your IM message shows you online but "Busy at Play". Then I look over at your computer screen turned off and start thinking. Not sure whether to laugh or cry. I want to say, "Ok, Mike. Enough play now, come here so I can wrap my arms around you and hold you."

I want to believe so bad that you will be ok. But the longer they have you on the ventilator, the more scared I get. When asked if you will be home for Christmas, they basically said probably not. Obviously, they are careful with what they say. I am assuming for liability purposes....

Mike, I know you are still here... I can feel you. I love you babe. Please, stop playing, get better, wake up, and come home.