bluefrenchorn

I did not sit on your bed that afternoon and think that this was going to happen. When I said ‘i’m glad you’re okay’ I didn’t actually believe I would have to face a situation in which you weren’t, much less severely affecting the lives of others.

I can picture it all.

I can picture me sitting on your bed, you barely seen below the covers, ashamed, regretful, defeated, thankful.

I can picture you closing your eyes and wanting so desperately to return to even that day, where so much was at a loss, but at least you had us.

I can’t picture you now. I’m so unfamiliar with the day to day that I can’t even accurately picture how you bury your head in a pillow in an attempt to block out the truth.

I can close my eyes and imagine the day. The day you come home. I picture you having changed not one bit, yet that’s impossible. I can picture the sign hanging above welcoming you home and the tons and tons of people who have waited so painfully for that day.

But I can also picture the day we hear your fate. As I play the scenario out in my head the numbers are blurred, unintelligable. If I hope for less then I’ll be heartbroken. If I imagine more then it will be my doing. At this point I usually stop, and cry. But today I stopped and thought about how you will react. Praying desperately at those last moments, with literally your life on the line, and then I stop again…

This is real.

Or at least it will all be very soon.