We’re at dinner near a restaurant less than two blocks from the ICU where my baby is laying.

It’s 9:30 at night.

I don’t have enough words to express how thankful I am she’s here.

We’re talking about recent events and changes in Marshall’s appetite: the strokes, the post stroke seizures, the breakthrough seizures from the meds, the fluid in his brain as it tries to recover.

The unholy terror coursing through all of our veins.

The fact he stopped eating like a champ.

His innocent, tenacious little smile despite it all.

I burst into tears during our talk.
I don’t care who sees me.

She cracks too.

“Oh, honey…I’m so sorry.”

“But it’s OK to cry. How can you not??”

We both sob.

In public. Over our burgers.

Not giving a care.

My. God.

Please send any thoughts, prayers, and kindness you can to our little man. I beg you.