There seems to be so much more hope for cancer. So much more support. At the very least I would be able to reconcile my soul to wanting him regardless of his state. I want that chance. That minute to bargain with God. I want to beg. To swear off my own life. I want to demand more time. Time with him regardless of how it may look or feel. I want the sense of dread to be quieted by the hope of opportunity. I will happily change his diapers for life, feed him through tubes, rebuild the house to fit his need. I will sit in waiting rooms waiting for procedures to help. I will hold him while he is sick from medicine. I will cry privately, and be strong with him so he can fall into me. I will. I will. I really will.

But I can’t. I don’t get that chance. I don’t get to beg. No bargains. Don’t get to hold. Don’t get to want. Only to watch. I can only stand by. I am nothing. My sense of dread continues. It grows day by day. My tears, my strength, my hope. All are meaningless. He will not be affected by me. He does not have cancer. He has schizophrenia.