I remember when you sent me that beautiful dream. That dream where I had died but was not frightened. Where I met you past the door at the the end of a dark oak hall. Where you met me in a room dressed in the familiar design of a hospital appointment room. Where you took me from my wheelchair and carried me to a gentle lawn and layed me down. Assured me. “Just a little longer and you will be healed”. You placed your hands on my knees. My knees felt hot but didn’t burn or hurt. “Thirty minutes and you will be able to walk” you said. I knew it would be so.

I live for those beautiful signs. I know that 30 minutes to you might be a different amount of time for a human but I still wait. It’s all I have. That little assurance that rolls over me like a cloud. Cleansing the other little voices in my head away. The ones that whisper “it’s because you don’t have faith” or “it’s because you have been abandoned”. It’s because I have those little signs I persist. The little and big. Road blocks protecting me from injury you know I can’t handle. Miraculous recovery from sickness that should have killed me. That dream when I needed it. My very existence in spite of my normally very lethal disability.

I see all the signs and yet sometimes it isn’t enough. I crave more. More of you when the other voices get louder. I need you like a little kid with a stuffed animal on the side of bed safely within reach. I need you in that selfish innocent way. That assurance of love to fill in that hole that stays open when left unwatched. That comfort only you provide. I know that you have your own reasons for the way you act and I always keep that in mind. Perhaps this is a kind of test. One to teach me to swim properly in life. My own hero’s journey at the climax. The hero after the mentor has pushed him to his task. The final big challenge

I worry it’s all too much. That the battle wounds will be too deep or take me under. That no amount of bandaids will fix me. I remember then. I remember that you are watching just out of sight. That you might step in when it becomes too heavy. That you might help me shoulder the weight. I remember and hope. I sit here and wait for those 30 minutes to end. I will wait patiently. I will wait for those small signs from you because it’s all I have.