“Sleeping” on the brown leather reclining couch in our room. Yesterday was likely the second longest day of my life and the green glowing numbers on the digital clock on the shelf have been taunting me since about 3:14am. What a useless time 3am is when all you can do is wonder about things that you have no control over. Like “I hope he is he ok” “Will this recovery be better than the last?” and “How many people have sat their bums on this couch?”

I keep thinking about him in his ICU bed and hoping he is not lonely. They have him very well monitored and someone is with him always, it’s just not us. I went to see him just before stupid 4am but he was sleeping. (Yet another pointless early morning hour. ) Mum is going to go in to talk to him while they do his vitals at 5 so I am sure he will like that.

She can explain to him, as only she can, that the tube in his throat is temporary and his movement will come back once his spine has had more time to heal.

Everything happens for a reason and obviously there was some reason that he needed to have a bigger plate. Perhaps cannon firing requires something that could stand a bit more torque, so this is for the best overall.

One more day.