Shocking but

I cried again today. This time I was lucky to have eyewear and a surgical mask to hide it.
I watched a 90 year old man say goodbye to his 3 kids and his wife of 64 years. As in "I'm not going to make it through this surgery" goodbye. His wife's last words to me were "you take good care of him. he'll love you. he's always been a ladies' man."
And I wheeled him down to a busy and nervous OR. With a crash cart outside his door and tons of prep work to be done, I stood back and watched 3 million things be hooked up, tightened, inserted, draped and the like. I saw the tears sliding down the man's cheek, and no one none the wiser.
And you know what I did?
I cried.
I cried for him. I cried for his wife. I cried for Chris. Because I couldn't bear the thought of leaving him after 4 years; how would I feel after 60 more?
And then you know what I did?
I barreled right through that effing sterile field, and I grabbed his hand. Because he needed someone to hold him.
And while I'm sure I was the last person in the world he wanted, at least he had a person. And I loved him like my own in that moment. I prayed for his peace and the surgeon's wisdom. And I stroked the inside of his hand until his eyes closed.
Then I went back to the wall like a good little nursing student who hadn't just committed an OR cardinal sin.
I watched in amazement as they wrenched his frail body apart, and, 2 hours later, put him back together.
And the best part? He pulled through. My little fighter battled through.
And regardless of how much longer he lives. And regardless of him having no intentions of doing so whatsoever, he reminded me how precious my life is and how precious being loved is. And how if you have those 2 things, what more could you possibly need?
So I plan to hug my mister just a little bit tighter tonight. And I resolve to be joyful in what I have, because, really in love I have everything.