Wrestling
I jerk awake at 2 am. He is in the middle of a dream, lying on his back, shouting, punching the bed. Calling his name, I reach out to grasp his forearm, sliding my hand down to his in a firm handshake. He freezes, pats my arm with his other hand as if making sure I'm really there, then goes back to sleep. I can feel his heart pounding through his hand. There is no time to drift off myself, as he slips almost immediately into another nightmare. Again, I wake him.This time, he grabs my hand with both of his as a drowning man clings to a rope. Between the remnants of the dreams--this time of physical combat and searching for explosives, he twitches as a painful muscle spasm racks his body punctuating the aching in his back where shrapnel remains. He's so tired of pain, so tired of dreams. So tired. It's 3:50 am. Words, phrases, sentences have been wrestling about in my head. Perhaps putting them here will bring sleep back.