Numb

Every night around midnight, we leave the hospital and drive back towards our house in the suburbs, exhausted from the activities and emotions of the day.  During the dark and silent drive home, I look over at my wife and speak three simple words to her.  "I am numb."  She need not say a word for me to understand that she feels the same way.  Instead, she closes her eyes, attempting to hold back tears, and nods her head in agreement.  I wonder how long this lack of feeling will continue to penetrate our lives.  Can it possibly last three months?

We drive down freeways I have traveled my entire life.  We pass by stores where we buy groceries and gas stations where we purchase our fuel.  We enter the town I was born and raised in, and yet I recognized nothing, as if I am some solemn stranger in a foreign land.  I strain to see things as they once were, longing to find some form of familiarity in this new found existence.  No matter how hard I try though, I fail.

Finally we stop at our home, the one we have lived in together for almost eight years.  We pull into the driveway and enter our house, like weary travelers at a roadside B&B.  It is 1 o'clock, and I can't fall asleep.  I look around the room and can only think of one thing.  I close my eyes and picture a young child, innocent and new to the world.  He is lying on his bed in the NICU.... alone.  I shake myself back to reality, struggling to find something else to occupy my mind.  Within minutes, I sleep.

In the morning, I arise.  The sun is out and the air is warm.  I glance outside, a cup of coffee in my hand, and stare at a backyard I once thought was beautiful.  I see grass I used to love to mow in the early summer sun, trees that provided a comforting shade when the days became warm, and a garden; my place of solitude, the small corner of the world where I could always find joy.  It all looks so distant, so unfamiliar to my eyes.  I can't even bring myself to go outside, knowing that it won't be the same.

Within a few short minutes, I finish my coffee and stand up from the wooden chair in the kitchen. From that moment on, only one thought consumes my mind.  We gather our belongings hastily and get in the truck, only to make the seemingly endless drive once again.  I do not feel my senses rejuvenate until I see him.  It just takes is a quick glimpse though, and the knowledge that he is okay brings me quickly back to life.  All is momentarily well in the world and I am ready to face the possibilities of the day.  No matter whether the news is good or bad, I know that I will be able to handle it if I am here, next to him, in the NICU.