There’s something about your child being in a holding pattern somewhere between now and eternity. There’s something about forcing your child to be sick for three years so he can live. There’s something about having no tears left which makes you feel cold but you’re not cold you’re just used to it. There’s something about being used to it that feels very wrong. There’s something about knowing down to your guts that you have zero control.

You realize just how bare and inept you really are.

But.

You are no longer gripped by all there is in this world that is unendurably pointless.