My husband is my best friend. We’ve had some rough stuff happen this last year. I was pregnant. It was rough. Gave birth at the end of May. The baby had complications. He’s had issues since I gave birth. We weren’t having sex for a myriad or reasons including the fact that I couldn’t during a chunk of my pregnancy. We are tired.

My mom has been great coming and helping. And I’m not ungrateful. But at some point you just want to be your family. Figure out the new normal. My mom and I are great but we are very different. I run my house differently than she runs hers. And that’s okay. We all grow up. Try to take the best of our folks and change the things as we parent the best we can.

In some ways, I was getting on my own two feet again. Recovering from birth. Trying to manage my new baby who, lets face it, I didn’t plan on him not being healthy. But we are so in love with him and we do what we have to.

Then things went sideways. My husband needed to fly home. His biological dad has not been well. He took a turn for the worse. His sister said come home now before the next time you see daddy is the funeral. So we bought a plane ticket with our savings. Something that was hard right after having another kid. We used the very last of our vacation time (took most of it for him to be with me and our son after birth. And we stayed in the hospital extra because our peanut wasn’t well.) And he flew out.

I knew I couldn’t monitor my newborn, feed him around the clock, hold him almost 24/7, and care for other two small children for the whole week without ever getting any sleep. I went home to my moms. She’s been taking some shifts holding and monitoring the little guy. Has allowed me some sleep.

My husband got to the city Monday night. He got to his dads Tuesday evening. This morning he said they were hauling the hour and a half back to the city because his dad took a sudden turn. They’ve admitted him into the ICU. They are gonna do surgery tomorrow. They still have a bleeding internally they can’t find. And they are putting a stint in his liver to try to prolong the inevitable in hopes a liver transplant will come through. But there is a chance the stint won’t work. We weren’t sure the man would see Christmas. Now we aren’t sure he will live to see August.

And as tired as I am, it all went out the window. I feel so helpless. My husband has a lot of baggage with his dad. He left him and his sister when they were kids. A lot of hurt. And a lot of baggage. Now he’s sitting there in a hospital hundreds of miles from me and the kids. Unsure. Hurting. Scared. Trying to take care of everyone. But I can hear he’s upset and scared.

I wish I could be there. Sit in the waiting room. Hold his hand. Listen to the doctors. Run out for supper or go back and forth to the farm for things they need. Mostly, I wish I could hold the love of my life of the past decade. We can barely talk on the phone. Every time we try, some doctor comes in or he needs to hang up quickly. I understand.

He’s my partner. My best friend. His dad is dying. The odds are if his dad survives this week, my husband won’t see him again unless he hangs on until the new year or he gets a liver transplant. I’m exhausted. I miss him. Our anniversary is next week. I just want to be there. I know he won’t breakdown with anyone but me. He’s the son. He’s the man. He’s the one holding it together.

I know I’m doing what’s best holding down the fort with our sick child and our older children. My heart is heavy and I’m emotional. And struggling not being there for him.