I have no humor left today, no wit, no jokes. I have nothing clever to say. My body is full of sadness. There is no cure, no remedy, no answer - no hope for Sam. He's not dying, but he suffers and the thought of living a long life adds to the pain. The doctor looked at us with pity because he knows he is helpless to our plight. "There is nothing more and this is your life" were not the words he used, but he didn't need to, his eyes said it for him. I don't want to cry in the doctors office, it's pathetic, but it can't be helped. I don't want to come home and cry, that also cannot be helped. Sam goes on with his day and I try to go on with mine even though the hope has been scooped out of my soul. Will people see the empty place? Will it show in my eyes? Can we hide it from Gabriel? Can we hide it from ourselves. We will carry on - making dinner, doing the dishes, reading stories, watching TV - everything as it usually is. He will silently suffer and I will pretend that we are normal. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week I will wake-up and believe once again that somewhere someone has an answer. But today I have nothing left, nothing.
