This year, nothing was different. Except that my Billy was there with us. He cheered for the mediocre fireworks, he twirled sparklers with us. He fit right in.
Mmmm....Sparklers! And Daddy makes an appearance in the background. Like Bigfoot, but way cuter.
Me and my "Little" brother.
Not only is our love incredible, but it's also patriotic!
With Mom behind the camera (hence her noticeable absence in the pictures), we giggled our way through an evening of cheap fireworks sold at one of the many makeshift vendors stationed all around our fair town. The night was incredible.
But, funny that we were celebrating Independence, when that night reminded me of how much I need those people, how much I depend on them. All of them have made arrangements to sit in the waiting room while my doctor digs inside me and rids me of my pesky cysts. They will all help take care of me during my probably brief, but certainly painful, recovery, even though I hate to admit that I need anyone. And I know them: They won't ask questions, they won't begrudge my helplessness. They'll help me for no other reason than because they love me. Pure and simple.
My surgery is a one-day thing. No overnight stays, no lengthy rehab or anything. A simple procedure that will allow me to leave the hospital with nary a stitch hours after being admitted. The doctor assures me that she will glue my incisions back together rather than stitch them to avoid scarring, but my recovery will be a number of days. And these are the people I've counted on my whole life, with one new addition in the form of a handsome six-foot-four man that I never imagined I'd be fortunate enough to find. And they will all be there for me.
Sure, cysts, and their surgical removal, suck. But look at how fucking lucky I am.