Today was the glorious return of my life as an athlete. It was as wonderfully hilarious as you would imagine, having not actually done any legitimate exercising in over a year…don’t judge! I’ve been busy caring for my cancer patient!… My method of humiliation…my beloved, soccer. I believe I fell 3? Maybe 4 times? God bless my teammates for allowing me back on the team. They are just generally awesome people – and we have fun, win or lose. But we usually lose.

A few things went through my mind tonight as I was playing. First, the last game I played with my team I was barely a month pregnant. So long ago! Second, I realized I was going to be building up my lung capacity during this session, which made me sad because that’s something Eric was fighting so hard to do his last few months. Third, it felt so good to be playing again! But I knew I would be so tired (and sore!) tomorrow. And on that point, I shall elaborate.

I. Am. Tired. And not in a ‘I need a nap’ way, or a ‘that was a long night with the baby’. I am weary to my absolute core. I am tired in a way that no amount of sleep could ever help lessen. I know that I will look back one day on these last four months and think, how the hell did we do that? Both of us fought, literally to the death, with every single ounce of strength we had. Physically, Eric gave it his all. He (slowly) made his way around our house even up until the night before he passed. And that is saying a lot. We would walk a few steps with the assistance of his walker, and then take a strategic break for a few minutes. It probably took 15ish minutes for him to make it 20 feet. But he never gave up – until his heart did, obviously. Bad joke. Too soon. Move on. Physically I fought in a different way. I was there to help steady him when he walked, I made countless trips up and down the stairs for anything he needed – when he was still able to make it upstairs to our room, he actually had a bell to ring for me if he needed something and I wasn’t with him. [Insert emoticon with tears of laughter]. I concocted his IV nutrition, and hooked him up in the mornings and unhooked him every night. And I readjusted his SEVEN pillows every time he moved. It wasn’t even in the same realm as Eric’s physical fight, but it was constant. I was an extension of him everyday, doing what he no longer could, and it was draining.

Emotionally we were strong, mostly for each other. We were each other’s main source of comfort – something that I struggle with daily now, being without. Anytime I was overwhelmed, I just had to be near Eric and I would instantly feel calm and safe. We remained hopeful, and full of faith that God could indeed bring about a miracle. We were realistic, and knew the odds…the odds were never in our favor…, but we fought for our sliver of hope every day. And I think that is what took most of my strength, and what I’m now recovering from. An emotional battle can have physical side effects – I submit myself as proof of that. Remaining positive in the face of impending death is impossible…alone. I believe, with my whole heart, that the only way we were able to have the emotional strength to survive those four months without cracking, was because of the countless prayers being offered up on our behalf. I will never know the sheer volume of prayers that were pleaded to the Lord for us daily, but I do know that’s how we not only survived, but thrived, while our world crashed down around us.