Calvin is home now. I asked him if he wanted to stay in the hospital and he could barely hear me. I’ve spent every moment I have with him. He’s asleep right now. They still have him hooked up to machines so it can monitor his heart rate. I’m watching his chest rise and fall. Every single time he falls asleep, I worry he won’t wake up. It’s hard to even hold a pen with my hands shaking like this.

They did everything they could to make him comfortable but the treatment just isn’t taking. That’s the fifth opinion. They don’t see him getting better, so all I can do is try to make this painless. I don’t want him to see me like this with his last view of me so frantic and depressed. I wish I could find the time to sleep. I’ve been up almost fifty hours now and I keep seeing shapes in the corners of my eyes. They look like cracks and spirals.

When Calvin woke up this morning he told me he dreamed of a castle in the sand. He said it reminded him of the funhouse on Coney Island. I’m kicking myself now. I didn’t get to take him this last summer because of work. And there is still so much work to be done.

Xavier and Tara came over today. They took over watching Calvin so I could get some sleep. I had a dream last night about the castle too. When I woke up, I heard Calvin and Tara talking about it. He sounds so calm now. I don’t know how Tara can handle it. I always thought she might be my daughter-in-law someday. Maybe it hasn’t hit her yet. This could be her third funeral in a single year. She’s too young for this.

Xavier tells me Henry is taking on all the work I’ve put off for this. It’s not something I have time to worry about. I’ll delegate for as long as it takes, pick up the pieces when it’s all over.

I can barely keep my eyes open anymore. Each thought in my brain is so loud and overlapping. Some of them I don't even recognize.

Calvin sleeps all the time now. When he wakes up, he makes strange requests. He told me that he knows he’s dying. He asks me if I can hear them too.

This house is too claustrophobic. I can’t stand to be away from him.

It asked me to paint out the spiral on his chest and the chessboard on the walls. It wants blood and ash. It says this is the only way to save him now. I know something that the doctors don't.

Calvin’s heart is still beating but I know he won’t wake up. Tara has been sitting cross legged on his bed for three days without moving. There’s blood dripping from her nose and navel.

I don’t think we were asleep at all.