Sitting in my Truck

(WAITING)

I'm sitting in my truck while nurses hold down my son and force medicine down his throat to keep him from death. Time is crawling as I stare at the disabled parking placard hanging from the garage ceiling and I say to myself, take a breath.

Pictures of an infant that I brought into this world run through my head, now screaming and wondering why people keep hurting him.

There are no answers to these questions of pain and sorrow, life and death.

He must be strong, but how can we ask so much of a little boy who still believes in Santa Claus?

I too am dying right along side of him, as I can hardly watch anymore and I fear the worst!

I must be strong, I must be strong, but I am only as strong as I think I am. And I don't think I am anymore.