Sigh

Amazing the difference a day will make. This weekend all was looking grim, the doctors and nurses using terms like "concerned" and "optimistic", patting my knee and offering water. I went into this situation promising myself that I would be positive, that I would not dwell, that I would not obsess. I knew that my father was strong, I knew that he has gone through this ICU stuff once before and came out mostly unscathed (if you don't count that Frankenstein scar on the side of his head). I got over the initial scariness of seeing someone in a hospital bed with tubes down their throat, and got into my role as Only Daughter, refereeing the brothers.

But when he didn't wake up and talk began about brain damage, smoke inhalation damage, stroke damage, I began to sink. I had to come home after five days to check in with my boys, but the main reason for returning was that I couldn't speak anymore, I couldn't think anymore, and I felt like everything was moving in slow motion. Driving home in the dark and the rain in that condition was not exactly the wisest move, and resulted in several stops to cry and get a grip.

Guilt about not staying, guilt about not being there when he finally, thankfully, woke up yesterday. Now its the next stage, trying to figure out what happens now, how the four of us can divide up the tasks, and start breathing again.

Anything is better than this past week.