Bright Times

By Suzzana R,

The bright morning, where the florescent sun shines through the window, this is the time of day I look forward to. No worries, no more agony and no more gasping for air.
There he comes, my husband, walking through our wooden front door. “How was work?” I ask. He responds, “Just another day of work”. I admire him as he places his black suitcase on the floor and hangs up his leather jacket, the one I bought him for his birthday. His birthday is something I appreciated greatly because I never knew if he would see another one. As drastic as that may sound it happened to be the reality we lived in. We sat down for dinner and as the twilight approached I could not help but think of the worries that the night brought upon us.
Putting on our pajamas we started getting ready for bed. As he laid down I began to glance at his shoulder-length blond hair, pale skin, and blue eyes that began to gaze off. In the middle of the night I hear a gasp of breath that sounds as if someone is about to drown. I wake up in terror and turn to him to make sure his blue eyes are visible and ask him, “Are you okay?” He responds, “I will be fine just go back to sleep”. As if I can sleep when I am not sure if I will see his open eyes when I awake.
The bright morning has come again, and I am glad to have made it through the sleepless night. She stares at me with those bright hazel eyes in admiration and distress. I hate that she has to worry about me as much I worry about myself. I head to work without proper rest but I am glad to be alive still. I come home from work and she asks, “How was work?” I respond with, “Just another day of work,” but what I really mean is just another day of trying not to fall asleep on the job. The twilight approaches and we begin eating dinner. I wish we were able to help my condition. I wish that my lack of breath at night was not the only thing that runs through our minds.
I begin to lay down and as she gazes upon me I cannot help but think of how sorry I am. Even though it is not my fault I have sleep apnea. I am sorry for the lack of sleep she has, the terror I bring through the night and the worries that begin to rise. “Will I make it through the sunrise?” I think to myself every night. In the middle of the night the muscle in my throat begins to relax, closing the airway for air to travel through. I gasp and gasp trying to catch the oxygen around me knowing it is not likely. My wife is hovered over me and she asks if I am okay. I tell her to go back to sleep, as I do not want her to worry, but in my mind I just hope the gasp of breath I take will not be my last one. With no cure and no proper diagnosis being obtained the only thing I look forward to is those hazel eyes hovering over me in the dawn of day.

This entry was posted in Scholarship 2015. Bookmark the permalink.