He’s been away since Christmas, ever since the ambulance took him away in a delirium, sirens wailing, leaving two small boys and their distraught mommy behind.
Three weeks passed in an ongoing cascade of fever, blood clots, a leg amputation – barring him from his family, threatening to sever him from his soul. Every precious hour lay under siege, while ICU added the sterile yet well-meaning imperative: no children may visit where death treads so near.
Then the fever turns – the amputation is healing – he is moved to a real room, with a window and a television, a smiling nurse and half the number of drips and IVs. Two red-haired boys stumble into the room, clamber to reach his bed first, their round faces suffused with joy as they bring dawning hope in their outstretched arms.