eat. sleep. breathe.

a friend gave my husband some good advice as

we traveled the last few weeks of

the Innocent Man's life before trial.

don't forget to sleep.

don't forget to eat.

don't forget to breathe.

for the past week through the trial i was barely able 

to eat or sleep.

if breathing didn't come naturally,  i'd be dead.

last night i found the t-shirt he wore his last day of freedom.

as i curled up in my bed at night,

hoping and praying to sleep enough to survive,

i  held it to my face,

comforted by his lingering scent.

i grieved the day when the scent would be gone,

and i would have no physical reminder

of his presence.

for hours i lay there in the dark,

exhausted, but unable to sleep.

the sound of silence in my ears

was like the static buzz of a tv off-station.

the heartbeat pounding in my ears

assured me i was still alive.

i've learned, the sound of a breaking heart

can keep you awake.

i was laying broken, lost and alone

in the deep well of my grief.

when i finally awoke from sleep broken

with agony and sorrow, i faced the first day

of life with the Innocent Man behind bars.

after being awake for a few hours,

i was able to eat more than saltines

for the first time in days.

 with the queasiness gone,

the first few bites tasted good.

but when i thought about what

the Innocent Man was eating,

i lost my appetite.

i kept eating because i needed to.

i have to survive.

i have to keep living.

but, the rest of my salad

tasted like sorrow.

i'm trying to

sleep.

i'm trying to

eat.

and though gasping  sobs often overtake me,

i'm trying to

breath.