At the Devil's Door.

I don't have another outlet for the heavy emotions and swirling thoughts. The metaphors have been flashing across my mind for days: Bursting Balloons and Water Works; Melting Metals and Imploding Explosions.

Somewhere in my memory is the statistic that a Black Hole is so dense that a tablespoon of it would weigh 2,000 pounds. Unfathomable. It is the result of an implosion that is a result of an explosion--a supernova.

I have felt these last days the emotional weight of a black hole. It is a density of sorrow that my heart never fathomed before now.

I have been staring at my sedated son--this side of comatose--for literally 72 hours straight. There is no describing the length of those hours. Before that, I sent him crying into the OR after sleeping at his side the night previous. Before that, he suffered for a week of undiagnosed Empyema, far worse than anyone imagined. His left lung had stopped functioning altogether. Another week, and he could have lost it.

Tubes out his nose, out his mouth, out his lung, out his penis. Tubes in his arm, in his neck, in his feet.

Tears come with no coaxing--a surprise, considering I couldn't hardly force a tear for five years.

I hate every bit of medical knowledge I learn in the ICU, as it only reminds me how long I've been here. I've seen the same people come and go, working three 12-hour shifts--and I haven't left the room.

I can't bring myself to leave. I simply cannot do it. It's the equivalent of being just as confined to this space as Finn is. He can't leave--I can't leave. It may result in mental instability--it certainly is unsanitary--but these are things I'm prepared to confront.

I think it's part parental-paranoia, and would like to think it's mostly sheer devotion to my sweet son, who deserves nothing remotely this severe in his little body. He'll be 23 months on the 21st.

There is no suffering like parental suffering. I've broken bones, torn ligaments, blown eardrums, endured chronic illnesses and invasive surgeries. The total pain all my maladies pales to one minute of watching my son suffer like he has.

How does God do it? How does His heart cope with 6 billion suffering lives? Unfathomable. The Atonement is infinite, which fortunately is a longer duration than even the longest lasting pain.

Somehow that helps. I have felt many prayers, though they've been like whispers in a whirlwind.

I still don't know who this is for, but I trust it's for someone.

I will end with this: I am leaving this place with my son. He's coming home with me. I am counting the minutes.

wes.

(this just in: having a shower. first since sunday. pretty normal, now that I think about it.)