So I'm wide awake, lying on the floor of the room in which my son will be brought into the world here in a few short hours. The floor is bitter cold, only 3 pillows and a blanket separate me from total discomfort, and despite badly losing a bout with the flu (Larry Holmes has nothing on that dude) I can't help but feel like the luckiest guy in the world.
See, things like this don't happen to me. For twenty years I swore off the faintest hint of commitment, preferring to chase dead end streets on purpose. Nothing was good enough for whatever reason I saw fit.
Until Ashlei. I met her in an aesthetician's office of all places, and I can honestly tell you everything about the first moment I saw her. I suffered silently with my feelings until a year of not being able to take it anymore culminated with me pulling a rose out of the inside pocket of my suit jacket (I tore a hole in the lining of the jacket to accomodate the long stem).
Fast forward 18 months and I'm lying on a frigid hospital room, sick as a dog and unable to sleep because I can't stop listening to the beautiful sounds of Ashlei breathing and our son's heartbeat pounding away in the night.
There are billions of people and places in the universe tonight and I can't think of anyone or anywhere I'd rather be than right here, right now.
My uncle used to say "You're never lost as long as you have a mouth," and while he meant it in the directional sense, I can honestly tell you that I thank fate, the stars, God, the Academy, that I mustered the courage to tell Ash how I felt, because this once lost soul feels finally found tonight.