Where We Are. Now.

Dear friends, thank you for your calls and notes asking about Dennis. Asking how we all are. Most of the time I don't know how to answer. The world keeps revolving, dawn to dusk, and we must too. But there is not a single moment when it's easy.

It's been 194 days since that dark morning. More than 6 months; half a year. A long time but still unbelievable in so many ways. 

We go to work, and school, and hair appointments. We still laugh and chat, and watch too much reality TV. But we do it all, everyday, with a muffling pressure on our hearts. It never leaves.

We don't talk about the future. Medically speaking, it's not the place anyone wants to be. We know the facts and statistics, but no one wants to give up hope, or believing there could be a miracle.

We try hard not to hate the person who introduced selfishness into this situation. Who lies and hurts so many. We try to understand and forgive. Sometimes it works.

We think of him all the time. Remember his dimpled smile, his Dallas Cowboys enthusiasm, his laid back wit, and willingness to eat just about anything. We miss him.

We look at pictures of Cearra at 3, at a family party, during college graduation, by his side. And we wonder why she has to endure this pain. Why everything she dreamed has fallen, for now, out of her reach.

We speak in low tones deep into the night about how we can help her. To keep moving forward, to hang on to the possibilities ahead. We decide again with heavy hearts that there's not much we can do - it's all in her time and in her own way.

We pray.
We cry.
We try to believe that one day, it will be OK.
We wait.