I feel such an overwhelming sense of love when I look at my baby boy asleep in the hospice bed.
He’s thinner, his bones stick out, his face is sallow, his eyes heavy and black, but my gosh is that boy still gorgeous to me.
He’s still the most handsome man I’ve laid eyes on. His strength, bravery and positivity still radiate from him in a glow of warmth that fills the room.
A warmth I know will soon be gone. The flame of hope extinguished by the storms of death and replaced by a bitter cold that will consume everything.
They added a 3rd syringe driver yesterday. A permanent tube into his arms and leg, via a stat line, where a syringe can pump a constant measured amount of drugs into his body. This one will pump constant sedation and keep him asleep until he slips away.
At least that’s the plan.
I’ve said my goodbyes but I’m not prepared.
And again I’ve glanced up from writing this to look at his beautiful face. An almighty rush of blood to the head, a fire of love and joy ignited in my heart. An intricate web of love and hope surrounds this boy and he will not give up without a fight.