Dear Gina,

I don’t know if you realize what you did last night. You stood at the edge of my bed, and you stayed. You probably didn’t have to, but you did. Sometimes you said something, and sometimes you didn’t say anything at all. You just stayed.

At one point you patted my arm and, in that moment, that small quiet gesture said everything words wouldn’t. You were like a light and an anchor in that room. I may not have been able to tell you in the moment how much that meant to me, but I want you to know now.

Your presence alone was medicine. The kind that doesn’t come in a compound or a drip. Thank you for being exactly where you were. It was exactly what I needed.