Epilogue (because Harry demanded that I do so. And whatever Harry wants, he gets.)

:)

4 days later, Graham is still sedated and still in ICU, but the staff has begun the slow and careful process of weaning him from the barbiturates, thereby raising his level of consciousness. In doing so, they hope to elicit a meaningful response from him. But doing so is a delicate balance, allowing the brain to heal, keeping the patient calm and causing no farther harm in the process. And though his condition has not truly been upgraded, his doctors are encouraged by small yet significant milestones in their patient's condition, most notably the vascular bleed subsiding and of course the drop-off in cranial pressure as well.

But for Harry, irrespective of the staff's gentle encouragement, there has been real little change. His son has not actually opened his eyes nor communicated with him despite the recent efforts of the medical staff asking Graham to move his legs, or raise an arm or even squeeze their hand. This initial (they hope) lack of response, they remind Harry, is probably due to his medically induced coma; the more troubling of course, is the unknown effects of his stroke. And whilst the scans have ruled out any congenital abnormality of the brain and identified the area of the brain affected, the left side, the actual effects from the stroke remains unknown; these of course can range from devastating to mild along with a myriad of symptoms, most typically found in such cases on the right side of the body.

But Harry can handle his son walking with some type of aid like a stick. Maybe some speech problems, he thinks. Even months of rehabilitation. Anything than this, watching his son mute and unresponsive.

And despite the nurse's reminder that his son has reacted to stimuli such as a pinch and that the careful process of raising his son's level of consciousness takes time, he is anxious for some type of response. Anything. Indeed, so far his days are unchanged, spending them at his son's bedside. Evenings, he alternates with his ex-wife and daughter, at their behest; the off-evenings, he goes home. To Ruth (his dog Scarlet now being cared for by Malcolm.).

Ruth. His whole face softens when he thinks of her. Being with her. Loving her. She is a constant. That, and he glances down at Graham, and the present condition of his son. He sighs.

"Graham," he says, squeezing his left hand, "I know you can hear me. Come on. Show me. Show me you can hear me. That you're getting better. C'mon." And he gently squeezes his son's hand again. But like the nurse before him who tried earlier, there is no response.

He sighs. "Ok, I'm not going anywhere." And he leans down, dropping his voice. "You know I love you, don't you? I do. I...know..I.." He shakes his head. Now, he decides, is not the time to address his lost opportunities, his sins of omission. So he merely says again," I love you. I always have. I always will. And I'm not going anywhere. " And he squeezes his son's hand one more time. Then leaning back in his chair, he closes his eyes, his large hand still wrapped around his son's smaller, more delicate one.

He is jerked out of a light doze, his eyes snapping open. "Graham?"

And he looks down at his hand.

There is no mistake. No wishful thinking. No dream. Only a prayer answered: The young man's hand tightens ever so slightly around his father's.

Harry squeezes his son's hand back.

-The end-

(really) ;)

Again, thanks for reading/feedback. You guys are amazing!

xo