P

"P" arrived at the airport at 2200. Eve and I picked him up. He hugged me when he saw me. Held me tight, said over and over, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
We took him back to the apartment to see his 4-year-old son who went ballistic and flung himself into his father's arms. The 4-year-old proceeded to tail "P" around the apartment as he showered and changed his clothes and ate food, chattering happily to him.

At the hospital again, I couldn't bear to watch as "P" saw his tiny, 2-year-old son for the first time, hooked up to machines, eyes closed.

The little boy's heart rate was lower than it had been the previous two days. Every time I visited, I saw it at 167 - 175. So fast. Like a hummingbird. Now, I saw that it had dipped to 145 and this gave me a sense of relief.

But, as "P" held his son's hand, and talked to him, the little body began to twitch, and the heart began to pound: 187, 190. The nurse rushed in. They tried to calm him.

But I knew it wasn't agitation. The boy wasn't upset. He was excited. Just as his 4-year-old brother had thrown himself into "P"'s arms, this little guy knew his daddy was there and wanted just as badly to be near him.