Loving Someone Through Illness

I know the time of your medicine

better than I know what day it is.

I measure your food.

I write down what you ate.

I ask the doctor the same question twice

because I am afraid I missed the answer.

At night I listen to you breathe.

When you stir, I sit up.

When you settle, I stay awake a little longer.

People tell me I am strong.

I am tired, and sometimes I am frightened.

I still get up when the alarm sounds.

I still bring you water.

I still learn the names of things

I never wanted to know.

If I could take the pain for you, I would.

I cannot.

So I sit beside you,

and when you reach for me,

I am here.