March 24th Signs of hope... and signs of death...

Our day started out on a positive note.  Yesterday, we contacted as many people as we could and asked them to pray.  All prayer helps and we've received prayers of almost every kind.  Well, the prayers helped!  Everyone that I had called yesterday with the sad news, I called back again!  He was showing signs that he was waking up.  He opened his eyes.  

Today is Aunt Franny's birthday.  She left him a tearful message in which asked for him to open his eyes as a birthday present to her.  He had already done it before she left the message!

Max, Aunt Franny and I went down to see Clayton.  By the time that we had gotten there, he had been continuously convulsing for hours.  The hope from the morning was diminished by the constant jerking.  I could see the pain and weariness on my parents' faces.  Mom, Max and I prayed the rosary as we gathered around his bed.  It was so beautiful and awful at the same time.  At times, I could barely speak and tears ran down my face.  I worried about what impact the was making on Max.

I offered to stay there.  Mom and Dad could drive my van home with the baby, Max and Aunt Franny.  They'd get some rest and come back in the morning.

When everyone left, I read to him.  I read the Alchemist which is a story about finding your purpose in life.  Doctors and nurses would pause at the door to listen.  When I realized that I was being watched, I'd look up and they'd feel self-conscious or say something like, "I wish I could stay to listen." 

 It seems like such a hard floor to work on.  Every day, we see families who are being told that their loved one with not make it.  It seems like there is at least one death on the floor each day.  As you watch families cry out in anguish, you feel badly for them and know that you could be in their shoes next.  Clayton's knocking on death's door and we are hoping that death doesn't answer because he's too busy answering their loved one's knock.  It's a horrible feeling that gives no one a sense of peace. 

At the same time, you get to know a few families well.  Without knowing their loved one, you pray for their recovery.  Comrades in a battle for the life of someone so dear to us.  You find yourself deeply caring for someone you don't know, because you've come to care for their loved ones.  This part of the floor is beautiful.

The staff on the floor are also beautiful.  They have been so kind, helpful, supportive and informative to us.  Clayton has been treated with dignity and kindness.  The doctors, nurses and therapists who work on this floor are truly special people.  We can never thank them enough for what they have done for our family.  Words fall terribly short.