My Spot

Dear Diary,

Okay so this particular post will be very mushy and gushy and full of ooey gooey lovey-ness. Just be warned…


So one of the first things Tim and I did after we moved all our things into our first place was set up the bed. (No, this is not taking a turn for the scandelous, so don’t go there.) In setting up the bed, we chose our sides. Which was easy because thankfully we each preferred an opposite side. But choosing sides was the beginning of something else too. It forever cemented “My Spot.” That is the place under his right arm on the right side of his chest. That place is mine. It’s my home. No matter where we are, if I’m in “My Spot”, it’s all okay. It’s like our world comes into alignment and things always look a little more manageable when I’m there. It’s been a source of comfort and reassurance for me. When I was sick with morning sickness (which was more like “all day, all night sickness”) in “My Spot”, I felt a little better and I could dream about the life we would have together with our babies. When Jadon was in the hospital at 4 weeks having surgery, I nestled into “My Spot” as we slept on a cot the size of a club cracker. He and I look back and laugh about that now saying that was somehow one of the best night’s sleep we’ve ever had. When my world comes crashing down, I curl up in “My Spot”, bawl my eyes out and fall asleep listening to him breathing and feeling him rubbing my back. Many life-altering conversations have been had in “My Spot”, many tears have been shed and much laughter has been shared. One time in particular that was memorable to me, was in 2009 when Tim’s lung collapsed. We had taken him to the hospital for a crazy backache and we figured at the worst, it was a herniated disk or something. But I remember my stomach dropping as I looked at the x-ray when I saw his lung. It was only functioning at 30%. And he was bleeding out into his chest cavity, about 2 liters worth. I looked over at him and was instantly scared. He smiled and reassured me and it was a whirlwind of craziness from there. They put in the chest tube…in “My Spot.” I remember right before he had to have surgery, I went to see him. I didn’t want to touch him because I knew he was in pain, but at the same time, all I wanted to do was to be curled up right beside him in “My Spot.” He weakly lifted his left arm and invited me to come snuggle with him. It wasn’t “My Spot”, but it was enough. I sobbed into his chest and prayed that he would be okay. We prayed and cried and loved on each other. A few days after his surgery, the chest tube came out and was bandaged. He looked a million times better and felt so much better too. So much so, that he had me come back to “My Spot.” I crawled up into the hospital bed with him and gently eased myself next to him. It felt perfect. Nearly every night since, I kiss his scar and silently thank God that I still have my husband and “My Spot.” Who knows what is to come over the next several decades we will have together “till death do us part”, but I know that we will get through it and I will always have “My Spot.” One night I asked him if he planned to remarry if I die first. He said, “Probably not.” I said, “Well, if you do, don’t let her have My Spot, okay? Make her snuggle with you on the other side.” He laughed for a minute, but I was serious. That’s my place. Always will be.


Till Next Time,



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