Often, in the busyness of life or the smallness of petty arguments, we lose sight of the things of real value in our lives. For instance, my partner and I have been having epic, ongoing battles about where we are going to live next.

“What’s wrong with Phuket?” He said exasperated, clutching his head in his hands. “Have I not provided you with a good home and good life there?”

“But I have had enough, I want to come home!”

And so it continues, to the extent that I often feel like giving up (thank goodness for family and friends who keep me straight). Even he would often say to me, “Stay on the programme, Jac, we will find our place in the sun one day, hey?”

Well, I don’t want sun. I want the four seasons.

Anyway, yesterday, taking a detour to my parents’ house as there was a jam on the motorway, we drove past Queen Alexandra’s Hospital. It has been almost two years since I was rushed here in the back of an ambulance when my heart went into ventricular fibrillation, but the horror of the day has not fully left me. I was terrified, my terror made worse by the sirens of the ambulance. “I’m going to die on Portsdown Hill,” I remember thinking in panic.

He was there, holding my hand, terror in his grip though his voice was calm, authoritative even. ‘Go off pump, Jac. I’m here, I’ll breathe for you.”

And yes, he has always breathed for me when I could not. It took a drive past this hospital yesterday to remind me of that important fact, in the busyness of my life and the smallness of my petty arguments.

We are all flesh and bones which suffer the ravages of time.  Our physical self will deteriorate, we will lose our physical beauty, we will even lose our physical desires one day, but what remains is the love that takes a lifetime of construction.

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