When you got Covid 19, I brushed it off and thought the worst of it would be the body aches, the fatigue, and the fevers. Day four and you could barely stay awake. You told me your chest hurt and it was hard to breathe. I still didn’t think anything of it, but I encouraged you to go to the hospital anyway. I said goodbye, not realizing that it could be my last. I barely kissed you and talked to you like I did any other day. I expected you to come right back home. I waited for a text, and when it came, you simply said they were admitting you. I thought, “Okay, a quick stay and then you’ll come home”. I even felt a little upset that I would be running a household of three kids and multiple pets alone. My priorities would soon change. Things escalated quickly. The doctor called and said that they were moving you to the ICU with the possibility of being put on a ventilator. You were in respiratory failure, kidney failure, and congestive heart failure. My stomach twisted and my eyes welled up with tears. Time stopped and my ears started ringing. They said you would have a 50% chance of survival. This is the moment I realized the seriousness of what we were facing. Your stats were dropping quickly and the possibility of me, a newlywed, becoming a single mom with no income to our three children was becoming real. I was able to video call you before the intubation, and it could possibly be the last time I ever talked to you. It could be the last time I heard you say, “I love you”. I was so scared and I felt like my life was ripped out from under me. What did I do to deserve this? I had finally found my person and he was slipping through my fingers like sand. I went home and sat by the phone waiting for each call, staying up until the nurses stopped making their updates for the night. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, gripping my blanket and releasing my tears into the folds of fleece. The vacant spot beside me was haunting and foreboding. It gave me a glimpse of my possible future-sleeping alone with just an imprint left to preserve the man that so recently filled it. There might be no more goofing off before bed, or being held in his arms as we drift off. My safe place was fading away. The next week was a roller coaster of emotions. One minute there was hope and things were improving. The next, death was around the corner and my soulmate was at the front step of a life beyond, waiting to enter. The nurses tiptoed around us, but we knew how bad it was. They didn’t expect you to make it. They told you that you would never see your children again and held you like a baby while you sobbed and clutched one of the nurses as if she were your own mother. You were in and out of reality and I could see that you were deciding whether or not you could fight. I spent each day trying to sleep away the grief for my husband, barely able to take care of myself or my kids. I had to look at our toddler and watch her smile, unable to fathom that she might never see her daddy again. My heart was in pieces and I didn’t know if I could ever be whole again. On day nine, I heard a knock at the door. I opened it and there was a vase with flowers. I shuffled inside with them in my hands and solemnly sat them down on a table. There was a card gently placed between the petals with words that said, “I love you baby -Ryan”. I couldn’t believe you had sent me flowers. I smiled for the first time that week. I had no idea you meant those to be your last goodbye as you declined further. There were no more encouraging calls, and time was running out. A young patient in the room next to you lost his fight. The nurses said you were taking the same path he did before he passed. They couldn’t let you die too. They laid you on your stomach with the bi-pap on your face, pushing you to breathe on your own. They gave you no choice but to fight as hard as you could and avoid being put on life support and in a medically induced coma. If that happened, the odds were slim. Being on that floor, in itself, was a grave reminder that I could be facing life without you. A couple days passed and things started to improve. By some miracle, you were able to come down on oxygen, and eventually come off of it completely. You video called me from a regular room out of the ICU and told me they were getting ready to release you. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing after everything we had faced. I had started to believe you would really be gone. You came home and it felt like I hadn’t seen you in years. It was you, in the flesh and blood. It was the most bizarre, yet warm feeling, seeing you walk through the door. You were really here. Our daughter lit up as her eyes fell on her knight in shining armor. I tentatively walked up to you and embraced you, scared that this was all a dream. Your arms enfolded me and you nuzzled your face into my neck, breathing me in. I held back tears as I realized how much I truly needed you. You were home. My soulmate. My protector. My husband. My best friend.