I'm sorry.

“Conor looks a little sad today,” the new clinical assistant reported.  “And he’s been kind of quiet.”

“He’s depressed,” I answered.  “Last night, he realized all the things he’ll miss while he’s in the hospital.”

Seeing the realization dawn over Conor’s face last night during my visit was difficult for us both.  I could tell by the questions he was asking that he figured out he was stuck in the hospital for a good long while.

“On Saturday, Conor will…” he asked, with his eyebrows lifted inquiringly.  I shook my head.  Sorry, no boat ride with Pa this weekend.

His eyes grew wider. “On July 4^th, Conor will watch fireworks…” He pointed at his chest as his voice trailed off.  You’ll get to see fireworks, I told him.  Just not at Nanny’s house. 

His hospital is downtown, so he’ll see the City’s fireworks from his window.

Then the tears filled up his eyes.  “What will Conor do on July 30^th?” he cried.

Sorry bud, no beach vacation this year.  No train ride to see Grandma and Grandpa, no sand, sun and surf. No visit to see the cousins, who have so many toys that their house is more fun than Disneyland. No shopping at his favorite store, The Black Dog.  (I swear, he has at least 10 t-shirts from this place.)

“You’ll be in the hospital for a long time, sweetie, until we can help you not have temper tantrums anymore,” I said.  Christ, this is hard.

He cried harder, wiping at his eyes.  “Want Conor to have medicine to not have temper tantrums,” he begged.  He’s so sad.

Don’t have a tantrum, don’t have a tantrum, don’t have a tantrum, I chanted in my mind. Although, quite frankly, if not here, when?  They actually want to see what he does so that they can come up with a plan to fix it.

And that’s what I have to remain focused on.  Not the fun events that he’s missing, but what we’ll all gain at the end.  A plan to fix it.  Please, please, please let there be a plan that will fix it.

Remain focused.  Be strong, I tell myself.

Still, I feel horrible.  This brings a new meaning to the cliché, tough love.

“On December 24^th, Conor will go to…,” he begins. 

“Conor,” I replied firmly, “I’m not talking about Christmas until December 1.”  OMG, Christmas, he could still be in this place on Christmas. 

Deep breaths, deep breaths, focus on the goal. Focus, focus.

Conor's recently discovered R.E.M., so I thought this song was appropriate.  


I'm sorry, Conor.  I'm so sorry.