Not long ago, I found myself in the living room, listening to my partner, Sarah, belly-laughing as she watched “iCarly” with our daughter. After 15 years together, I know her inside and out, and her love for cheesy kids’ comedies has always been one of her most endearing traits. “Hannah Montana,” “Sam and Cat”—these are just a few of the shows that send her into fits of giggles. Every time she finds herself laughing uncontrollably, she’ll say, “I shouldn’t find this so funny,” only to dissolve into more laughter. But this moment stood out to me because I realized it was the first time I had heard her laugh like that since her hospital stay.
Last November, Sarah spent over three weeks in the hospital battling sepsis. It was a harrowing experience, with one doctor telling us that if we had delayed bringing her in by even an hour, we might have lost her. That news hit me hard; I was on the verge of tears right there in the hospital. She spent three grueling days in the ICU, and I genuinely feared I might become a widower. The day we finally brought her home was a bright spot in an otherwise tough year.
Thankfully, her recovery has been going well. She’s been able to work from home, regain her appetite, and even return to driving. Her follow-up appointments have become less frequent, and she’s back to bickering with the kids over homework and chores, which is a good sign that her strength is returning. At the start of the year, she began walking a couple of miles daily, but I still haven’t seen her run like she used to.
While she has chuckled at my dad jokes and laughed at the kids’ antics, that Sunday was the first time I heard her genuine, hearty laughter in months. It was a sound that filled me with peace after everything we had faced. I like to think I’m someone who appreciates the little things, but since Sarah’s health scare, those small joys have become magnified. I now take pleasure in details I overlooked before—like her soft humming while preparing breakfast or the adorable way she stands on her toes to peek through the peephole.
When you come close to losing someone you love deeply, like I did, it becomes impossible not to root for their recovery. With every small step she takes toward getting back to her old self, I find myself cherishing the little moments that I used to take for granted. Hearing her laugh again felt like a wave of comfort, a reminder that she is indeed healing.
So, I sat quietly in the other room, soaking in the sound of her laughter as she enjoyed her show. I didn’t say anything to her about how much it meant to me, not wanting to interrupt her good mood. Just listening to her joy filled me with a sense of optimism that had been absent for far too long.
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In summary, nearly losing my partner has transformed my appreciation for the little moments we share. Her laughter, once again filling our home, serves as a beautiful reminder of her recovery and the joy of simply being together.
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