Tuesday's come and gone

I don't know where Henry sleeps tonight. Is he back home in Key West? Is he still in a hospital bed in Miami?  Do we have a diagnosis on the seizures, a prognosis for recovery? I don't know.

His husband Reg posted to social media on Monday: "Here is what I need. I need people to stop calling me. Stop sending text messages. I will let you know what is going on. IN MY OWN TIME." I resent the living shit out of this. Is it really so awful to be loved, Reg? Is it such a burden to have people praying for your husband?

Bitter though I am, I respect his wishes. I reached out to Patrick just before beginning this post, hoping for news, but he hasn't heard anything either. 

So we wait. My instinct tells me that Henry will be OK. I think if the news was bad or dramatic, Reg would have posted that by now. I suspect that the test results may be difficult to articulate. Brain injuries are complicated.

I'm holding Henry in my heart tonight. Remembering how he brought flowers to my mom's hotel room when she traveled to Key West. He is such a good person. Wherever he is tonight, he deserves to sleep the sleep of the righteous.