Endless hours

I’m compelled to share this entry from Wil for a myriad of reasons. Primarily because I have lived this day. More times than I would wish on anyone. I’ve never been quite able to put into words what it is like. How much I have fought, yelled at doctors on behalf of someone I love dearly. I have questioned, to their faces in some cases, if these medical professionals even cared to save and give a quality of life back to my mother. I have pleaded with them, what if this was your mother, treat her as though she was your mother, please. Years spent waking up in the wee hours to her screaming. Walking up the staircase from my room to ‘hers’ to watch TV, bring her warm rice bags, anything to help ease her pain for a few hours and calm her back to sleep. Moments I don’t talk about, things I don’t share because I don’t want to bring shame to her. Feeling and wondering if anyone would ever love me enough to do those things for me. I am more empathetic to what Wil and Anne have gone through than I will even get into now. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to verbalize in any concise manner how those days have felt. How much armor I feel I have built, preparations in my castle for what will inevitably come, how many times I have thought it was already knocking at our door. For her. For him. I may never really be ready, no matter what my gallows humor would say to the contrary.

eighteen hours

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