I can't believe it has been two months since I held her hand for the last time, in room 768, at the UCLA medical center.  Two months ago today, I walked into the hospital room, as I always did, hoping that that day would be the one that she would start tracking my eyes.  I sat in front of her talking to her and massaging her arms and legs for hours, just waiting for the moment  her eyes would follow me.  September 23rd was different though, and as I walked into the room I was greeted by about 10 people in her room, running around, talking, taking notes, changing chords, checking vital signs, etc.  It was chaotic to say the least.  It was at that moment that I knew that something was terribly wrong.  I had left the day before a little worried, because she had a slight fever, and it wasn't the fever that bothered me so much but the way the nurse acted about it.  I was so mad that she had not given her anymore tylenol.  I mean, she had a fever and she has to have tylenol to help get it down!  Little did I know that her fever was the very least of the problems.  I arrived that sunday morning, and was greeted by three doctors, all of whom discussed with me the dire situation that Meliss was strugging with.  They had seen me plenty around the hospital, and didn't even care that I wasn't family.  I told them they would have to repeat everything they said to me when her family did arrive.  It was only fifteen or twenty minutes later that her mom and brother got there.  I can't believe it has been two months since her cold hand lay in mine.  Each passing day makes me want to go back to that time even more.  Each passing day makes me worry that my memories of her are fading.  I would rather be in the thick of the pain than on the edge of it.  I fear that I am not even close to finding a way out of this depression though and for that, I am both grateful and worried.  I find myself sick today, in bed, and missing her.  The last time I was sick was in Santa Barbara, and both Melissa and I found ourselves in bed with the flu. We took turns walking down to the grocery store a few blocks away to stock up on theraflu and gatorade.  We watched movies and lay in bed.  We took turns making soup for each other and getting cold wash cloths to keep us cool.  I can actually remember what the air felt like in Santa Barbara as I walked back from the store with my canvas bag, waiting to see what reality show she had turned too.  I can remember what it felt like to walk back into my apartment, and see her laying on my bed. What a glorious time that was to be sick and miserable in bed.  It was heaven.