When I read this diary, sometimes I think I wish I could somehow convey how good my life has been, and at times still is. I think that because I know others read it. I know about the good things. I even mean to write about them, and maybe I have some.

I just have to write in here in any event, and I as seeking no sympathy, nor do I feel the need for any. Everybody has their rough moments, and mine are no worse, or better than all people.

This ends the disclaimer portion of this entry.

Last night, I picked her up in my arms to carry her to a wheelchair. She was totally unconscious at the time. She came to a few times, and I made sure when she did that I was there, stroking her hair and cheek. The time that sticks with me the most right now is when she said "I am scared".

The last time I found myself in that situation holding someone and them drifting in and out of consciousness, they died in my arms, and I felt their last breath on my cheek.

I could not help but think for a flash about that when she told me that last night. I told her she would be ok, and tried to sound convincing though I knew I did not know that.

I just kept telling her you will be ok.

The ambulance came and took her to the hospital. I could feel the beating of her heart when they came to take her, and her heavy breathing, though cold water and the little vials the paramedics used to revive her had very little effect.

I wanted to be with her, and ride with her, and never let go. Unfortunately, that was not possible. See, she and I are nothing to each other. That is the way the malpractice and privacy laws and such are written. And yet at the same time, we often know what each other are about to say. We are so much more than nothing to each other.

She is only thirty six years old. How ironic, the exact same age my mother was when she died. I just realized that as I typed now.

I have been able to think of nothing much but her all night as this occurred about ten hours ago now.

Ten hours ago, she was laughing and talking about what was going to happen tomorrow morning.

Four of us were going to breakfast this morning. After work.

I don't believe any of us have much of an appetite. Haven't had for the last ten hours. Will again, I suppose, though it is hard to imagine right now.

She is alive. She may stay that way. She is conscious and not sometimes. I am glad she knows I have tried to see her and talk to her. The emergency dept. told her, and then told me she knew. Still I cannot see her. And my heart aches.

And my head aches. And my stomach is tied in a knot.

And that is all I can say right now.