Amore mio 2

30.

Her.

Surgery. 

3 hours long surgery. 

The world seemed to have stopped when my husband was taken away from me by doctors, my heartbeat as if nonexisting when medics operated on him for whole 3 hours without anyone nearby to tell me a word until finally, the surgery ended. 

You know you love so damn much when a doctor tells you that your husband is in stable condition, yet all you hear is what your husband was put through. 

Loss of 6 pounds, intoxicating drugs injected into his system daily in dangerous dozes, dehydration, severe exhaustion, extreme blood loss - all of that with horrifying consequences: likely insomnia, intense tiredness, possible inability to stomach much for the first a few days and unavoidable, fierce feebleness that is feasible to last for a few weeks. 

Words can never be enough to tell how much it hurts to see the love of your life in the hospital bed, motionless and worn out, his once sun-kissed skin has no lively colour to it, his muscled arm bears bandages that hide big, deep wound that is the reason for his severe blood loss, dark circles under his beautiful, hazel eyes, bears instead of once neatly maintained stubble. 

"Everything is okay."- I soothed the twins quietly, tenderly scooping them in my arms. 

"Shhh, I am here."- I whispered to my babies, taking deep breaths of their sweet, airy scent, desperately containing myself. 

In those 2 weeks I felt things I don't want to ever feel again, I felt how single mums feel, I felt how overwhelming it is when every little thing depends on you and how much you want to just cry because you cannot take it any longer. All mothers and fathers are heroes, but Dio, single parents are different types of heroes. 

Those 2 weeks made me treasure my husband even more, opened my eyes to what and how much I can handle and how meaningless everything becomes when your children ask you when their daddy is coming home and you have no answer to that.

"Papà!"- chirped Francesca with a smile as I turned around, so she'd stop squirming, but I wasn't ready for it. 

I wasn't ready to see my husband smile at me and our 6-months old twins, who made grabby hands at their daddy, leaning in his direction. 

"Leo."- I whispered through frantic tears, dashing to him once he opened his vigorous, inked arms for us ever so lightly, yet enough to do everything I wanted him to do for the last 2 weeks. 

To hug me. 

To hug me and hold so-so close to himself until I am suffocating.

Him.

Every inch of my body fucking aches and feels so damn heavy, yet it doesn't faze me because my wife is holding me close to herself so so so fucking lovingly,  our small babies lean on me and make the sweetest grabby hands at me. 

"Papà."- murmured Eli and Fran, my world stilling as I glanced at Cami, unable to contain my tears as she nodded, wordlessly confirming that our twins' first word is "papà". 

I gently scooped the twins in my arms, smiling as their tiny hands cupped my cheeks while they beamed with happiness, chirping "papà" over and over again, making me fucking shatter. 

"I love you so much."- I spoke adoringly as tears rushed down my cheek and wrapped Cami in my arms as she cried in my embrace, holding me tightly.

"We love you very much."- almost whispered my wife, kissing me gently, neither of us able to calm down.