VII

You came home today. I imagined it would feel a little bit better, but you're sicker than I've ever seen you in my life. Your face is vacant and your eyes have the same sort of tired life that you see in a nursing home. 

Dad told me that the doctors gave him a choice, take you home or take you to a nursing home. You're in so much pain and they couldn't do any more for you. 

I hear you crying in the back room. It's not the kind of crying I used to hear-- competent and scared, riddled with prayers and strangled optimism. Tonight you cry from raw pain. 

But the one thing we have in common is we are all so tired, aren't we?