The gloves have come off!

Written by Daddy

I sat at the top of the stairs tonight and stared at the front door like I was waiting for God himself to walk in. I had a few choice words that I needed to tell Him as soon as he came through the doorway. He didn't. Just as He didn't do the only thing I had ever asked of Him in my adult life; to keep my babies and my wife from harm. Just as He didn't do the one thing I asked him to do the first night I came home from the hospital by myself; to take the Cancer from her and give it to me.

So I sat and waited. Over my right shoulder I could hear the sounds of ocean waves crashing against some shore that I have never been. The repetitive white noise was coming from a machine that we play every night to calm Cooper and to drown out other potential disturbances. This is the same noise we used when ViviAnne was a baby. I have listened to this resonance coming from the next room for the past 3 years. Tonight, from where I sat, it crashed louder and stronger and each wave eroded a little piece of my strength. The extraordinary force didn't, however, drown out the sound over my left shoulder. It was the sound of my other two "dependents" crying themselves to sleep. It is equally and insufferably difficult to see each of them violently struggle with this fight. The irony of the word "dependent" is my helplessness or inability to do or say anything to ease their trouble or calm their minds like the reverberation of oceanic noise from the next room.

So I sat and waited. My mind returned to the moment before we checked into 7West. I carried ViviAnne from the first floor McDonald's at Kosiar Children Hospital toward the elevators. I reached the elevators, clinched her tight, turned and walked away. I continued down the corridor toward the front door with her head on my shoulder and my free arm draped across her back. Kristen called at me with some frustration as though I didn't know where I was going. I did though, and as I turned back to Kristen she must have seen in my eyes that I wasn't lost, at least not in terms of direction. I handed ViviAnne to her and turned back and continued out the front door. The fresh air I needed was robbed by the cigarette smoke of the worried and hospital workers gathered just outside the front door. I continued around the corner and found myself in a quiet, empty courtyard. With a gasp of air my back fell into the exposed aggregate concrete wall behind me. My full weight was bearing on the hospital that would come to support our new life. As I slid half way to a squat I noticed a small bronze sign sticking through the ivy ground cover of the center courtyard. It was a plaque dedicating a tree that no longer existed to what I assumed to be a child of the same fate.

It was at this moment that it all became real to me and this moment that mind chose to return to tonight. This moment describes what I mean when I say "I guess we are doing okay" when everyone asks.

To all of those who have contributed so selflessly in the way of dinners, donations, gifts, cards, gas-cards, groceries, fund-raising, yard work, babysitting and everything else; YOU ARE OUR EXPOSED AGGREGATE CONCRETE WALL! We see what you are made of and we feel your strength. We could not do this without your support!