Two days ago my son opened his eyes for the first time after a 17 day medically induced coma. The moment we looked at each other, instantly we both began to cry. So many emotions rushed through my mind and right before the instance of being overwhelmed by these feelings, I pulled it together. 
I had to. 
Not for my sanity but for his.
As he laid there with dozens of little IV tubes running in, then out of his body and a larger hose crammed down his throat forcing his lungs to rise and fall, I knew my responsibility was to comfort him and remove all fear from his mind.
His fingers stretched towards me from his motionless hand and tears ran down his cheek, falling onto the little tubes, sliding down and collecting at the lowest point before dripping on the floor. 
A tiny puddle of tears that I could not and would not allow to build up. So I began to speak to him in hopes that sound and dialogue would allow him to be distracted long enough to know that everything was going to be ok.
I started with witty bante…

Multi-medium artist, chef, pro se renegade. Wownero meme technician.

Oh my Poseidon, thank you for sharong this story dear